Different Sisters
by malvakai
Summary: TCOR AU Cont. of Min Ferrin alternate ending. It's been over a year since I updated and I have chapters for you now. Riddick and Don get found by Furyans. Jack has a revelation. Zemma first days in prison. Enjoy.
1. Tomorrow

**Title:** Different Sisters  
**Author:** Malvakai   
**Rating:** PG: some use of the F and similar words  
**Category:** Het; Adventure; Action; Angst  
**Pairing: **Riddick/OFC Zemma  
**Summary:** TCOR AU: Continuation of Daddy's Girl from the alternate ending  
**Disclaimer:** This is written for enjoyment rather than profit, I do not own the borrowed characters or storyline. My OFC is my property and not to be reused without my permission.  
There's a poem by William Blake called The Tiger that I quote bits of.  
**Feedback:** Please DO give me any feedback you feel is appropriate, including shredding. This is first draft stuff.  
**Archive:** A qualified "yes"; definitely ok for this site, and anyone else should ask.  
**Notes: **Still in Zemma's first person perspective, but more about Jack.

**1. Tomorrow**

It had been three weeks since Zemma hemorrhaged all over the Vaako's bed. Two weeks since she said goodbye to her friends and left the Basilica, with Riddick and Jack, on a stripped down frigate. And a week since she thought it was a good idea. Now they were preparing to land on a planet, tomorrow. Zemma was filled with anxiety and without her usual means of dispelling it. Riddick had been keeping her at arms length since her rescue.

She thought she knew why, and didn't want to think about it either. She tossed on her bunk and tried to sleep, instead of thinking about the past two weeks.

Jack was taking best advantage of the gap she sensed between them; chatting up Riddick like an old friend...

Like an old lover. Jealous again, my dear?

...Laughing too loudly and ignoring Zemma completely.

Zemma, consequently, found herself ignoring the two of them. Catching only pitying glances from Riddick when he thought no one was looking. Superior ones from Jack when Riddick wasn't around. He slept in the pilot's seat ship nights. The strain was getting to Zemma. She wasn't quite invisible, not quite included in their little circle, and still clueless about Jack's past. Whatever it was, Riddick did know something. Possibly it was the real reason for this outing.

She lay in her bunk, alone, and thought about waking up that next day... well, it was the next day to her. She found out later it was two more days. All in all she had lost nearly a week.

"Why do I hurt all over?"

"You had to have surgery to stop the bleeding. Nanos work fast on breaks, but soft tissue still needs time to regenerate."

Zemma couldn't feel any surgery scars or find any stitches. That left only one explanation for her sudden loss of blood.

'Should we tell her?' She remembered Jaron had asked.

'No.' Riddick had been firm.

Don't think about it, Zem. It's way past Now.

Zemma didn't especially want to have babies right now, but it shook her anyway. The voice in the back of her head sometimes brought it up, but she never took the idea seriously. She hoped they had fixed her again, but didn't have anyone to ask. She rolled over in her bunk again, that day flashing back into her mind.

Her hands were swollen and painful but otherwise working. Her broken foot hurt less. Ribs too. Zemma finished her examination before Riddick returned from ordering breakfast. He hadn't touched her, except her face to wake her, and to check up on her hands. He dressed without looking at her.

"Need some help getting to the bathroom?" He spoke with his back to her.

"I'm dry as a bone, but I could use a shower."

He turned and started to scoop her up out of bed. She slapped him in the shoulder. It hurt her more than him.

"Don't do that. Just help me walk."

He set her down gently. It was almost the last time he touched her. He did, however, stay in the bathroom as she showered.

"Tell me what happened."

Zemma wanted to say 'no', or stay mute, but he didn't use that command voice that seemed to make her so immediately stubborn. He spoke quietly. Still she heard that quality in his voice that would brook no argument or diversions.

"I pushed Jack's buttons and made the mistake of turning my back on her. My fault, really, I should have seen the mask she was wearing. I let myself get distracted. I was over confident."

"What did she do?"

Zemma mentally shrugged.

"She hit me. I fell. She didn't know the Chemist would find me. She didn't know anything about Dame Vaako."

Riddick didn't reply.

"Don't do anything to her, Riddick." Zemma sighed.

I owe her. I'll handle her.

"She crossed the line." Controlled anger.

"She's just a big kit."

"You think she was playing?" Irritation.

"No." Zemma leaned up against the wall and let the water wash over her. "She's afraid of something, Riddick. Something scarier than you. Doesn't that intrigue you?"

There was a pause, then, "No."

Something in his voice for that short word caught Zemma's attention. She turned to look at him.

"You already knew!"

He glanced away, shrugging one shoulder. 'So what if I do,' he seemed to say.

Zemma splashed him with water. "You knew and didn't tell me! You could have saved me a lot of trouble." She was smiling, teasing him, but he pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and turned away.

Zemma turned off the water and got out. Riddick was already in the other room.

You hit too close to home, girl.

I didn't mean to.

Zemma pulled on a robe and followed him slowly into the bedroom.

"Get back in bed. You aren't healed yet." Calm, quiet voice.

Zemma was feeling light headed. She did as requested rather than follow him out.

He'd barely touched her since then. She tossed on her bunk, alone in the tiny cabin.

She did finally talk him into continuing her training last week. At least that got her more than sympathetic looks from him. He even smiled a little at her.

Jack's face, on the other hand, well, that made Zemma smile.

Zemma didn't mind Riddick working out with Jack too. The girl had some interesting moves, but Riddick always had more interesting counters. She felt she learned a lot just watching them.

But Jack hated anything that brought Zemma and Riddick closer. Only that morning during their training session, Riddick had pulled Zemma into a hold that lasted a minute too long...judging by Jack's face. Zemma felt him breathe deeply against her hair, and her heart quickened its pace. She turned her face towards him but he spun her loose.

"Try again."

Zemma was tempted to let him complete the grapple again, just to be in his arms, close to him. But her obstinate streak wouldn't let her. She threw and pinned him, instead, ending up on his chest, grinning mischievously.

He actually smiled back before he flipped her. She found him sitting on top of her, her arms pinned, smirking at her. She kept smiling back.

Until Jack cleared her throat.

Zemma tried to hold Riddick's gaze. Had her hands been free she might have clutched at him despite, or in spite of, Jack's presence. Riddick rose and pulled Zemma from the floor, his eyes unreadable behind his goggles in the brightly lit room.

"That's enough for today." He walked off rather stiffly.

"I'm not that fucking fragile," Zemma hissed under her breath, knowing he would still hear her.

He stopped half way through the door, turned slightly, but said nothing before continuing on his way down the dark hallway.

Jack gloated.

Zemma turned her smile on Jack. "Just you and me, sister."

Jack hopped up from the crouch she had been resting in.

Riddick had, this week, been shooing the women out ahead of him, never leaving them alone in the same room after getting everyone's adrenaline up.

"I owe you a kick in the head," Zemma continued as Jack walked confidently towards her.

"You think I'm gonna take it easy on you because you covered for me with Riddick?"

Zemma kept the surprise off her face. Did Riddick really think she lied? Or did he just tell Jack that? Might explain his attitude. But, she told him the truth, Jack only hit her, and she fell...

Jack took a stance in front of Zemma, but was moving again a half second later.

Zemma was ready; she'd been ready all week. She let herself move fast, not holding back. She focused on power moves whenever Jack gave her an opening, but found they were always a ploy. Zemma took several hard shots and kept on smiling. She gave some back and Jack's face never changed.

Zemma sped up, and Jack got trickier.

But she was still telegraphing, and once Zemma learned which twitches were feints...

Jack spun into a kick. Zemma was ready for it, she caught Jack and slammed her into the floor. Jack lay still a moment, stunned. Zemma walked calmly up and kicked her in the side of the head. Then she turned and left the unconscious girl on the floor with a sense of self-satisfaction.

The smiled died on her lips as she stepped through the door to discover Riddick standing in the darkness. She poked him hard in his chest with one finger.

"I didn't cover for her."

She walked back to her cabin alone. She spent the day there, alone, thinking about the past three weeks yet again.

You worry too much. He'll get over whatever it is.

Zemma tossed on her bunk. At ship's morning she was supposed to pilot the ship to planet side, following Riddick's coordinates. He wanted to see what she'd learned.

He wants to see if I can pilot in blue sky.

Then I'm supposed to go outside.

Zemma shuddered and counted her heartbeats, hoping for sleep. She was in the thousands and thinking of counting backwards instead when her door opened. She twitched up her lenses.

Riddick.

Zemma smiled and waited, thinking about the first time he had done this. When he sat on the edge of her bunk, Zemma reached out to him. He caught her hand but didn't speak.

"Don't be an asshole, Riddick," Zemma broke the silence with a whisper.

He turned his head slowly to her. "What?" His voice was low and curt.

"Will you please just lay down and hold me?"

He looked at her another moment. Then he lay down, his head propped up on one hand, the other holding hers. Still too distant for Zemma's taste, she turned, laced her arms around him, and put her head against his chest. He laid his arm across her back.

"I'm no more an idiot than I am fragile, Riddick. Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because you didn't want to tell me I was..." She trailed off. She didn't want to say it either.

He didn't reply, but put his face against the top of her head.

"Did they at least... fix... me again?"

"Yes."

Zemma spoke in Furyan.

"What was that?" He asked, mildly curious. She hadn't called him a prick.

"I said, 'I'm afraid of tomorrow'."

He pulled her close to him.

Neither of them spoke, and eventually Zemma did fall asleep.


	2. Thin Blue Sky

**2. Thin Blue Sky**

Zemma woke up alone. Strange dreams floated just beyond conscious reach. She shook them off and called for time, forgetting this little ship didn't have scene walls. She looked at the unfamiliar watch, a going away present, instead.

Fuck. Late.

No time for rations for breakfast.

No loss.

When Riddick first proposed this trip, Zemma had only hesitated a moment. Cross the galaxy, see other worlds, meet the Basilica at Fury. Sounded interesting. The Furyans were going to take the 'back roads', Riddick explained, avoiding the systems where 'Monger ships might be met with resistance they could no longer withstand. They would build up to par-light after they took out the 'Monger resistance left on the support ships they had thus far ignored, then put almost everyone in cryo for the journey. It would take them two years internal time.

Much longer for those outside the time slip.

Plenty of time for Zemma to learn about the universe she'd missed so completely, while hurtling through it, holed up in her 'ivory tower'.

Those were Jack's words, 'ivory tower'. Jack told Zemma she was in for a few unpleasant surprises.

Like rations.

Jack, of course, had no intention of staying with the Furyans. She insisted she was only going to hitch a ride with Riddick and Zemma, but she didn't say where she intended to get off.

Zemma suspected Jack wouldn't.

She also suspected this 'field trip', as Riddick called it, had more to do with Jack, than with Zemma's education.

"You've never been anywhere. You might hate Fury and not even know why." Riddick was being reasonable.

"Just leave, you said, let's just leave this ship. You didn't give me anything else to go on." Zemma felt stubborn and cranky.

"Now I am."

Zemma had been cooped up in bed for a week. She felt better today, yesterday she hadn't even argued with him when he brought it up.

"I already said yes." Zemma tried to keep herself calm.

"Then why the fight?" Challenge voice.

Zemma sighed.

"I want to get out of bed, but not to march straight onto some frigate you prepared days ago without so much as a hint you were ready to leave."

"It's this ship, Zem."

Zemma shut her mouth; hearing her own thoughts echoed out loud by Riddick.

"It would do you good to take a little field trip." Riddick's voice was strange, the one she could never quite define.

Then there was that set to his shoulders and the fact he wouldn't look at her. Something else was lurking, some plan.

The plan, this morning, is to land, and get out.

Probably best on an empty stomach anyway.

Zemma had been surprised at their first meal away from the Basilica. It wasn't as bad as the food she had eaten as a child, but a far cry from what she had become used to.

Jack had been watching her closely, Riddick feigning interest in his dinner. Zemma was careful not to make a face, but she missed real food -and a few meals- after that.

Quit stalling.

Zemma was dressed and ready, standing at her door, looking for something like courage to hold onto.

Tiger, Tiger…

Not that.

Just go.

She did.

Jack was sitting at one of the back two pilot's chairs, Riddick in the main pilot's seat setting their trajectory. He glanced up when Zemma stepped up beside him. Jack, on the other hand, didn't bother to look up from cutting her nails.

"Sit," he commanded, and scooted quickly to the copilot's seat without missing a beat.

Zemma settled in quickly, staying in the Now, picking up where Riddick's hands left off the controls. She tried to match his pace while getting herself buckled in. He only watched.

No time to be self conscious, Zem. Just focus.

She settled down to her own pace, letting the knowledge move smoothly from head to hands. She knew this; Don had drilled her eight hours a day on the simulator in all different ships. She didn't need to be shown more than twice.

She felt the bite of atmosphere hit the ship. The simulator just kinda buzzed and tossed her around. This was different, more lively. This was better. She smiled, adjusting the controls to stay on the course Riddick had set.

As they came around the planet and hit sunrise, the screen darkened automatically. Zemma stayed focused on instruments while Riddick pulled down his goggles.

"You said this planet is settled?" Zemma asked him.

"Sparsely. It's tough to find a completely vacant habitable planet," he told her.

"Are we going to trade here?"

"No." And no reason why, of course.

The frigate had been stripped of the architecture, inside and out, that declared it in so few words to be of 'Monger origin. Riddick had also stripped the weaponry from it. Most planets frowned on armed ships, and Riddick preferred his battles up close and personal. He also had the skin of the ship burned, the brains burned out, and rewired to be functional, so it would pass as salvage. Then the rooms not needed for living were packed with more 'salvage' and trade items. They weren't 'rich', but wouldn't have to beg in the streets of any planet they came to.

They would be what Riddick called 'mercenary merchants' to the universe at large. Just under the radar, as Jack might have said. Small profit pirates. At first the idea had appealed to Zemma's imagination and sense of adventure, until the tedium settled in.

"You gonna fly through that?" Riddick asked as his course aimed them straight into heavy atmosphere. "This bird is heavier than the simulator settings."

Zemma looked at the approaching storm, her first, for just a moment longer before returning to the controls to adjust their course. The simulator may have been set to near perfect conditions before Don got to it. But Zemma had never practiced on those settings.

Don was as much a sadist as Riddick, in his own way. Riddick may have plotted straight through the storm to see what Zemma would do. She, however, had already been plotting two alternate courses in her head and adjusting them as she went, per Don's strict training. She picked the one that would get them closest to their destination, rather than the safest course, and furthest from the storm. Zemma wanted to feel it.

Riddick didn't comment on her choice, didn't offer any advice. From the corner of her eye Zemma could see him calmly watching everything at once. No doubt ready to jump in when Zemma got in trouble.

She wouldn't.

Zemma grinned to herself. She was really enjoying the experience. She even forgot Jack was nearby watching critically with a barb for any inadequacy. Fun was not a word she would have applied to anything in her previous life.

Zemma skirted the storm but didn't avoid it completely. Rain on the hull hit suddenly, Zemma compensated for the added weight. Lightning startled her only for a moment. Riddick winced but Zemma wanted to cheer or applaud or scream with delight. Scenes had never been so vivid or colorful. Zemma could feel the thunder through the hull.

"Enough sight seeing. Get back on track." Riddick sounded irritated. The lightning would be hell on him, even through the goggles, if his lenses were still up.

Zemma glanced over. Riddick had his hand up to his face.

Should have thought of that before you plotted me into a storm, she thought to herself.

As they broke through the clouds and approached Riddick's proposed landing site, Zemma was faced with blue sky and a seemingly endless horizon. Her stomach did a slow roll, but she was immediately busy switching on antigrav and dialing down the engines in preparation to land.

"You know most craft don't use antigrav to land," Riddick said dryly as they hovered over the site.

"Most runways are going to be a bit larger than this, though, right?" Zemma retorted.

The mountain meadow opened up panoramically on a long river valley with the evening sun at the far end. The storm had already passed here, leaving everything sparkling in the late afternoon light. But the grassy field was not much bigger than their frigate.

Zemma set it down as carefully as she could, but still there was a heavy, rocking bump.

"Hey!" Jack piped up. "You made me cut myself." She was examining the ends of her fingers critically.

Zemma didn't give her more than a brief glance before returning to the shut down routines. She was -not- looking out the front screen. Now that the fun (test) was over, apprehension was setting in. She had no witty remarks, no excuses. When she was done here she would have to go outside.

She glanced up, Riddick was watching her critically, she smiled calmly at him.

Tiger, Tiger…

That's not going to help.

Zemma stood to leave the pilot's area, still avoiding the front screen and it's vision. Jack was already unbuckled and gone. Riddick put a hand on Zemma's arm.

"You don't have to do this if you aren't ready."

Zemma kept her eyes on the dark passageway ahead of her. She didn't want to see concern or pity.

"I just need to get my cloak." She didn't mean for her voice to sound so sharp. She took a deep breath. "Instruments say it's cold out there." Her stomach was already in a tight knot, her hands felt cold and clammy.

Zemma stood alone in her cabin, cloak in hand, trembling. She suddenly wished she believed in God, any god, so she could pray for strength.

You know you won't really fly off into the sky. Riddick will be there.

She counted her heartbeats and concentrated on her breathing.

Put on your cloak and go!

She did.

Zemma could feel a change in the air just as she stepped into the passageway. The door outside was open already. They were waiting for her.

Tiger, Tiger…

Stop that!

She followed her nose to the bulkhead door. The air was cold and wet, smelling of something unidentifiable to her. She'd have to ask Riddick about it later.

She found him standing by the open door. Zemma stopped a few feet away.

"Sun's going down. You ready?"

Zemma nodded and pulled her hood up, limiting her view to the ground at her feet. She preceded him down the few steps and stopped at the bottom, clutching the single handrail. A cold sweat broke out over her body, seemed to wash up and down her skin in waves. She felt Riddick's step behind her and his hand on her shoulder.

"This way." His voice was calm.

She let him lead her from behind, as he brought his other hand to her shoulder, while she looked at her feet on the wet green ground. The grass squished a little from the rain; the sounds and the colors seemed too extreme. She felt a little off balance on the unstable surface, increasing her sense of giddiness. She wanted to giggle hysterically, but felt so nauseous she kept her jaw clamped shut. Riddick walked her to the front of the ticking, slowly cooling ship.

"Take your hood off and look." Calm, quiet voice again, nothing to resist against. Except her own fear.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Take it off and look.

Zemma felt Riddick's hands on her shoulders, massaging at the tension there, holding her down.

You won't fly off.

She tilted her head up and pushed back the fabric.

Open your eyes, girl.

Zemma did.

Blue sky. Sunlight. Rolling green hills.

Zemma felt her gorge rise. Nausea seemed to invade every limb in her body. Everything was too big, too far away. She couldn't breathe, her heart was pounding too hard against her chest to let her lungs work properly. Zemma began to tremble, she tried harder to breathe in, her face felt hot. Panic was getting a grip on her. The vastness before her seemed to pull away, her peripheral vision closing to a point somewhere before her.

Jack's voice invaded.

"What the hell you doin', Riddick?"

Riddick's voice, calm still, but far away now, everything was far away…

"She wants to live on Fury? She's gotta get used to…"

Jack's voice, very far away now…

"What the fuck! She's foamin' at the fuckin' mouth, Riddick, stop…"

Zemma went away.


	3. Fortnight

**3. Fortnight**

Zemma sat by the open ship's door, staring into the night. The world didn't seem so big by darkness, even though she could see the universe laid out above her in the clear night sky. Still, she didn't feel comfortable braving the open. A bonfire burned merrily a dozen feet away, tended by Jack. 

Riddick had left before Zemma came to in her room. Jack had so far been quiet, with none of the barbs Zemma expected to hear from her.

"Did he say how long he would be gone?" Zemma spoke to Jack's back.

Jack stood from a crouch in front of the fire, stretched and popped her back. She turned slowly and crossed the grass to the steps of the ship. She sat below Zemma.

"He said he was going hunting. So, I guess, when he kills something." Jack's tone was more or less conversational, for her.

"You don't know...?" Zemma started. She wasn't worried about him being out there, alone, hunting something, possibly dangerous. She was just lonely, and feeling sorry for herself. One of his smart-ass comments was exactly what she needed right now to break that grip of self-pity.

"How should I know?" Jack's voice belied her words; not as hostile as she could have sounded, but calm, almost resigned. "You've spent more time with him than I have, now."

Zemma smiled. She didn't know why Jack was being so civil, for Jack. Perhaps it was the kick in the head she needed. Or maybe she was feeling alone too.

"The air smells funny," Zemma ventured. She'd never had the chance to ask Riddick about it.

"Green," Jack answered. "And snow on the way."

Zemma wasn't sure about the idea of snow. Frozen rain, if she remembered correctly. She even knew the Furyan word for it. But she'd never seen it, not even in holos. She couldn't picture it.

Green smell? That confused her completely. "Color has a smell?" She asked, and braced for Jack's smart-ass comment number 37. Even that would be cheerful to her now.

"Green. You know: green grass, green trees, green growing things. Better than recycled ship's air anytime."

Zemma inhaled deeply through her nose. Green. It was nice. There was a sharp tang high up in the back of her nose she thought must be the bonfire.

"Those trees are a kind of cedar," Jack continued. "That's what we're burning; that's the acrid smell. It's better when it's cured instead of green."

Zemma wished she had something to say in return to keep the conversation going. "I like it," is all she could manage.

"Me too," Jack returned.

They sat in silence watching the fire.

"What does..." Jack strung blended consonants and clipped vowels together. "...mean?"

Zemma would have gaped if she weren't already practicing tight control around Jack. The girl had spoken the Furyan words with very little accent. But where had she heard that particular set of words?

"Why?" Zemma was slow to answer, causing Jack to turn and look at her.

"You said them. When you were having your fit."

Zemma looked for any duplicity in the young woman's face. She saw only honest curiosity. Nothing resembling her poker face, and no rancor whatsoever. Still she wasn't sure how to answer Jack, but with a baffled truth.

"It means, 'Mother, they're falling'." She kept her voice neutral and her face passive.

"Why would you say that?" Jack asked, emoting nothing but more curiosity. Her big eyes and the flickering shadows made her look so child-like... and her words, spoken in Furyan... Zemma felt a strange pang of an unidentifiable emotion.

"I don't remember saying it," Zemma told her.

"So you don't know what it means?"

Zemma shook her head. The words, echoing in Zemma's mind now, gave her uncomfortable butterflies and a deep sense of unresolved sadness. She missed her mother, felt terrible guilt for being her murderer.

Jack's eyes narrowed at something she saw on Zemma's face. "What are you thinking?"

"About my mother." Simple. Calm face, calm voice. Bluff.

Jack folded. She turned away, back to the fire.

Zemma felt no victory for the small win. She watched her first ever moonrise, beyond the fire, above the trees, and felt pitifully lonely.

"Do you love him?" Jack's voice was soft and far away.

"I think so," Zemma answered immediately. "Do you?"

"No." Jack was just as quick to respond. An answer she had prepared or practiced in her mind? Or one she needed to tell herself? "But I need him."

Well, that was undoubtedly the truth, at any rate.

Zemma pulled her blanket tighter around her, not wanting to go back to bed yet. The women sat in silence a while longer.

"What will we do if he isn't back by morning?" Jack asked, trying not to sound like a lost little girl missing her father.

Zemma felt a familiar sense of sympathy for the child floating so close to the surface of the woman.

"Play cards?"

Jack's head bobbed in agreement. Zemma thought she could see the girl grinning, but wasn't sure.

They did play cards. At first, just after dinner, then as the days passed with no sign of Riddick, the girls played more often. They didn't speak much, trading some barbs over hands mostly. Jack taught her other games. Neither spoke of their past, nor speculated about their future. Riddick would return as sure as the next sunrise, or the next deal.

But each sunrise was solemn, still forlorn. Each hand dealt just led to another.

Zemma would not have called their changing relationship friendship, exactly. There was a truce of sorts. They shared a common need and frustration: Riddick, and loneliness. These two women, who did not spend their lives sharing with a great many people, suddenly had only each other. But it was only a temporary armistice; neither expected it to last beyond the moment.

Riddick came back after a fortnight, dirty and bloodied. Two weeks without rations did not diminish his mass or his presence, it seemed to enhance it. He seemed bigger, not thinner. Harsher, not more relaxed. He drug the large body of an animal to the bonfire and dropped it. Jack did not move to him, speak to him, but seemed to be watching him warily from her crouch at the fire. Zemma continued her surveillance from the doorway.

"You know how to dress that?" Riddick asked Jack. His low voice was nearly a growl, he didn't look at her directly.

"No." Jack's voice was defiant, insulted, challenging.

"Just don't let anything drag it off," he grumbled back. He looked at Zemma in the doorway a moment before approaching, taking the stairs in two strides, and brushing past her without a word.

Feral.

Zemma mentally shrugged. Nature of the beast. She knew it already; the man could be more wild than civilized. More animal than man.

Tiger, Tiger burning bright...

Hmmn. Yes, no doubt.

"Why don't you shut that God damn door," he called over his shoulder as he strode away. "Fucking cold in here. Is there hot water at least?"

Oh, look, there's the man.

Zemma smirked and followed at a more sedate pace. The only water shower was in the med-lab. The few cabins they used had sonic showers instead. She heard him cursing as she reached the med.

"You'll have to wait till I fire up the engines." Zemma leaned against the doorjamb casually. "We had no idea how long you were planning to be. We didn't want to waste battery power or fuel mass."

He rounded on her. "Well," he said impatiently. "What are you waiting for?"

His tone kicked in her stubborn streak. Zemma didn't move except to raise an eyebrow. "Please, for a start." She wasn't amused.

They stared at each other. Zemma had no reason to look away, and the patience to wait him out. She wasn't the one covered in muck.

Riddick's face froze into a scowl. "You think you can manipulate me?" Cold and hollow.

"That's what you think I'm doing?" Zemma was perplexed. Curiosity won out over annoyance. Still she held, waiting for him to continue.

He didn't. He headed for the pilot's deck.

Irritation took back its place from curiosity, Zemma followed. "What is your fucking problem?"

Riddick turned. "I just want a fucking hot shower." He wasn't shouting, yet. "Do I owe you something for that concession?"

Zemma paused at his vehemence.

Read him. Figure it out, quick.

She took a breath and brought her tone down. "I don't think you need to talk to me like..."

"I'll save politeness for those I respect."

What the hell? Has he been building that up for two weeks? Over what?

Zemma brought her tone down another notch. "How do you think I manipulated you?" Curiosity was getting the upper hand again.

Riddick started to turn away again. Zemma reached out and dug her fingers into a cut on his arm.

"You could end up out there with that other body." Warning there, without looking at her.

"I can't stop you." Zemma jeered.

"Let go of me." Quieter.

"Not until you talk to me." She wasn't afraid. Anger and interest were warring in her.

He shrugged her off. She had no way of holding him.

"There's nothing to talk about, Zemma," his voice and demeanor, changed radically. "I'm just tired." He was calmer. Sadness seemed to radiate from him. "I just want a hot shower."

"I didn't lie." Zemma hissed. "Ask Jack."

"Jack?" Riddick turned his head, and his question, to the darkness down the passageway.

Zemma's head snapped to the side as her lenses snapped up.

Jack. Damn it. Go away.

"Well?" Riddick commanded quietly.

"I hit her," Jack whispered. "I pushed her off. I pounded on her hands until she fell. She said..." Jack repeated the phrase she had asked Zemma about.

Zemma's eyes narrowed. She didn't remember that.

She's lying!

No. Think. Look at her.

Jack was looking on at their dispute with the big eyes Zemma saw their first night alone. All pretense was stripped off. The child was very close to the surface. Zemma looked away from her. Riddick was looking intensely at Zemma; she couldn't look at him either.

I don't forget things.

"I didn't lie," Zemma said quietly. She turned.

I never forget things!

Zemma headed away from the pair, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

How could I forget that?

There was no place to hide on the tiny ship; nowhere to curl up in the dark to think things through. No comfort, no friends, no anonymity. She locked herself in her cabin.


	4. Talent

**4. Talent**

Zemma leaned her back against the wall and slowly slid down till she was sitting on the floor.

That could have gone better.

What the hell?

Did I really forget all that?

Tiger, Tiger...?

Burning Bright... yes, yes... but what's that dark spot there?

I don't know.

Zemma sighed and wished the voice in her head was more helpful.

She tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes to the dark. Images of blue skies and green hills, not detailed and clear like the view from outside, but simplistic and overly brilliant, invaded, making her feel queasy.

Falling....

...Mommy...

Zemma opened her eyes and bit her tongue. The darkness and the pain helped. She put her hands flat on the hard deck she was sitting on, and pressed her back against the firm wall.

Tiger, Tiger burning bright...

...What's behind that yellow light?

Zemma counted her heartbeats and slowed her breathing. Time passed slowly.

The turn of the lock was soft as a whisper. Zemma stopped breathing to listen. Yes, the lock. Either Jack or Riddick was about to intrude. Zemma did what she was so good at, she waited.

The door opened slowly, quietly. Zemma smelled soap and wood smoke. Riddick, then. She didn't twitch up her lenses.

"You in the habit of breaking into the rooms of people you don't respect?" Zemma's tone was quietly angry.

"Actually..." Irony and amusement in his voice.

Zemma snorted. "What do you want, Riddick?"

He crossed the room in two silent treads, and by the sound of it, sat on the edge of her bunk. She stayed on the floor. She still didn't twitch up her lenses; she wanted the buffer of darkness between them. She waited, again.

"You probably got a concussion...back then." 'Trying to be reasonable' voice.

He needs more practice.

"Mmm. Probably." She kept her voice flat.

"Some memory loss."

"Mmm hmm."

"I'm..." he paused, and Zemma filled in the gap.

"I'm not the one holding things back, Riddick."

"I'm not in the habit of apologizing." So much for the 'reasonable' voice.

"I'm not asking you to!" Zemma let offense filter into her voice.

Tense silence filled the room.

"What do you want, Riddick?" She repeated. "I can't hide from you here, except by your consent to leave me alone for awhile when I need it."

"You want me to leave?" Challenge.

"Again?" She asked him archly.

"I needed some time." Hotly.

"You took two weeks to talk yourself into thinking I'm not just an encumbrance, but actually working against you somehow?"

You knew he tended to react to things suspiciously, Zem.

Damn paranoid control freak.

Zemma dropped her voice "I think you must be worried I'm a burden now." It was her worry at any rate. "But how did you go from 'liability' to 'lie' in two weeks? Why would I lie?" That part still made her mad. She went on quickly...

"Isn't it bad enough I'm not your equal? I'm out of my element out here, and apparently out of my mind. That damn ship, my 'ivory tower'? I don't even know what that means! I don't know anything about the universe that I haven't read, and for years my father's tech manuals were more interesting."

Zemma pushed herself upright with her back still against the wall, her voice rising too. "I don't know how to function out here. Don't you think I get that? Don't you think I see you having second thoughts? But that doesn't give you the right to push me away - and push me around!"

He didn't respond. She couldn't see him, so she couldn't judge if she had scored any hits against his callous armor. She understood the need for it, but hadn't expected him to keep her outside of it.

Thought you were special.

Shut up!

"I may not be worthy of you Riddick. But I wont be ignored, ordered about like a servant, and generally treated like shit. Get that straight now, or take me back to the Basilica."

"If that's what you want." Cold and angry.

Well, so was she.

"No. What I want is to be in your damned arms and told everything will turn out okay, even if it isn't, because I can face anything but your regret." She'd actually reached the point of yelling.

Don't you dare cry, now. Don't you dare!

She heard the tiny rustle of movement that told her he was now standing. She still didn't look at him. He still didn't say anything.

Breathe.

She brought her voice down, spoke slowly and quietly, "Something happened to me, Riddick. I didn't know anything about it until it was gone. I still don't know what to think about it. I just woke up one day and you were gone too. I never had any control over it. I never had a chance...

"I want my chance back."

Damn stupid tears.

She kept her breathing as slow and regular as she could. Wouldn't fool him, but might keep her from flinging herself into his arms, pounding on his chest, and screaming hysterically.

She heard him approach, a part of her mind still marveled at how silently he could move. She felt his breath on her face. He sighed. She wouldn't look at him. There was just darkness, and his presence.

"Zemma..." He put a hand against her face.

Her control wavered. She tipped her head against his chest and felt his arms go around her. She cried out loud.

"It'll all turn out all right," he whispered.

"Damn stupid prick," she whispered in Furyan between hitching breaths. She felt him chuckle a little and pulled her tighter against him.

He remembered those words.

Zemma went on in Furyan, more for herself than him. "Just hold me and talk to me, damn it." She needed to get it off her chest, and get calm again. "I don't need you to say you're sorry. I don't need you to say you love me. I just need you to make me feel like you love me. Show me the whole damn universe, if you want to. Just don't make me feel alone in it, again."

"I wont," he said against the top of her head.

Zemma sniffed. He couldn't have any clue what she'd just said, he was just responding to her tone of voice. She must sound pretty pathetic. She let her arms snake around his body and hugged him anyway.

His hands rubbed her back, stroked her hair, then tipped her head back and wiped her face.

"I need to blow my nose," she apologized as she ducked out of his embrace to head for the small bathroom. She heard a thump behind her as she washed her face in the tiny sink. "What are you...?"

Zemma turned back to the room and finally twitched up her lenses. Riddick was stripping off his shirt, the mattress of her bunk on the floor at his feet. He stepped over it and caught her up by the waist, pulling her off her feet a little, and buried his face against her neck. Zemma caught her breath and felt everything inside her quicken in response to his lips.

"Damn it," she said in Furyan again. "How can you take me from the lowest lows to..." Zemma's words were cut off as she made a little sigh of anticipation.

"Mmm. Talent," he responded against her skin.

That caught Zemma off guard, "How did you know what I said?" She tried to pull away to look at him.

"What did you say?" He inquired against her ear.

"You're trying to distract me..."

He cut her off with his lips against hers. He set her down without breaking the kiss and started pulling her t-shirt up. She put her hands around his neck, stroking the now smoothly shaved skin at the back of his skull. She was definitely distracted as his hands roamed up, one against her back, the other to cup her breast. She shivered as he played with her nipple with his thumb.

"Asshole..." Furyan again, she didn't remember telling him that one.

"Don't call me that, anymore," he spoke softly, amused.

Zemma smacked his shoulder and tried to pull away again. "How did you...? How much do you know?"

Riddick scooped her up and laid her down on the disheveled bed he'd dumped on the floor. One hand caught in her hair, the other unbuttoning her pants, his mouth on a nipple now, Zemma lost the ability to speak either language for a moment.

When he stopped to pull her pants down over her hips Zemma asked, "Riddick?"

"Hmmn?" He was pulling her boots off and tossing them away with cavalier ease. They thumped loudly against the walls in the small room. "Doesn't take a genius to know you're being insulted in another language, there's a tone to it you learn to recognize."

There was a tone she had learned to recognize as well. He was teasing her.

"Liar. When did you learn Furyan?"

"Who says I did?" He spoke against her bellybutton, one hand reaching down inside her panties.

Zemma was definitely distracted now. She clutched at his smooth, bald head, tracing lightly on his skin as he moved slowly back up next to her for a long kiss that made her forget her question for a moment.

But her obstinate streak wouldn't let her stay distracted. When he let her up for air she twisted sideways, facing him, stroking his chest and kissing lightly at his face. He rested his hand on her hip, tugging at the band of her panties.

"How'd you do it?" She asked him quietly, softly, sweetly... Trying not to instigate his stubborn streak too.

"Do what?" He whispered back, suppressing a smile.

Too late.

"You're evil," she grinned back.

"Terrible," he agreed. He kissed her, slowly.

Zemma gave in and let herself savor it. He tipped her back down again, stroking her skin and giving her the shivers all over. Her nipples hardened at his touch and he hummed pleasantly in mock surprise. Zemma reached for the fasteners on his pants.

"'Bout damn time," he mumbled against her skin.

Zemma would wonder later, as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, had he said that in Furyan?


	5. The River

**5.The River**

Zemma woke to the sound of her door opening again. Riddick pulled her closer.

"Zemma?" A small whisper. "You awake?"

"Of course, Jack, what do you need?" Zemma whispered back even though Riddick was, now, already awake, too.

"I just wanted to tell you..." Hesitation. Jack's head appeared in the doorway and she must have noticed Riddick in the room too. "It's snowing outside."

Zemma wanted to jump up. Riddick must have felt her twitch, his arms close tighter around her.

"Thank you, Jack. I'll be out in a little while..."

Or longer.

The door closed with a click.

"That was pretty civil. Wha'd you do to her while I was away?" Riddick mumbled as he pulled Zemma against him.

"Bluffed her." Zemma whispered back and snuggled under the blankets away from the cold air Jack had let in.

"Bluffed?"

"We played a lot of cards."

"No more personal combat?"

"We didn't, while you were gone. I think we both worried we wouldn't stop." Zemma inhaled deeply against Riddick's neck.

"What are you doing?"

"I like the smell of us after sex."

"Go back to sleep, strange woman."

"I wanna see the snow. I've never seen snow."

"Later."

Why argue? She was happy where she was, too. Zemma let herself drift off in the darkness.

Strange dreams plagued her.

Zemma startled awake to the sound of babies crying. She found herself sitting upright in the darkness, Riddick's hand against her bare back, his breath against her face. She felt nauseous.

"Zemma? You okay? Wake up. Zemma?"

"I'm awake," she managed blearily. "Sorry. Bad dream."

"You were crying."

What? Zemma put a hand to her face and found it wet.

"You were crying 'why' over and over again," his voice was low and intense. "What were you dreaming about?"

Zemma tried to focus on the dream, but only a sick feeling remained. "I... I don't remember," she stuttered. She hated saying those words out loud. It bothered her that she'd been having so many bad dreams she couldn't remember.

She didn't think to ask what language she's been speaking in her sleep.

"Can you remember who was falling?"

"What?"

"When I took you outside."

"I don't remember saying that either," Zemma didn't mean to sound so touchy, but it disturbed her more than she cared to talk about. She just did not forget things!

"It's ok, it's ok," he pulled her against him. "Shhh."

Zemma let herself be comforted, but when he tried to lay her back down she resisted. "I'm not tired anymore," she told him. She was feeling anxious. "Distract me?"

Riddick kissed her. "How do I do that?" He mused wryly.

Zemma bit his lip. "Distract me." She whispered. She twisted and bit his neck. "Distract me. Distract me. Distract me." She punctuated each soft command with another bite.

Riddick laughed loudly. Zemma realized it had been a long time since she had heard that cheerful noise. He laid back and let her distract herself. She felt wicked satisfaction when she could elicit a small moan or gasp from him. She moved farther down his body, nipping with her lips and teeth at his nipples, against his ribs, at his hips, and then moving towards...

"Not there," he whispered, pulling her away.

"Why not?"

"Most women don't really like to do that."

Zemma resisted, she wasn't most women. She'd often wondered about it since she'd seen the Lady...

"No." His voice was firm. He pulled her up, twisted, and had her under him before she could argue. He began biting her softly.

She couldn't argue with that.

There was a knock at the door, followed by Jack's voice...

"Riddick?"

Riddick growled, and Zemma nearly laughed.

"Whaddya want, Jack?"

"Geeze, you two. Come up for air much?"

"Jack!"

"There's someone outside." Jack's voice was all business. "Wants to talk to the captain, but won't come close to the ship. Won't let me get any closer."

Riddick's head dropped against Zemma's chest in exasperation. Zemma stroked it lightly.

"We'll be along in a minute, Jack," she told the girl.

"A whole minute?" Jack snorted as she shut the door.

"Whoever it is can wait." Riddick told Zemma.

"Mmm. I want to see the snow." Zemma teased him.

Riddick paused to look her in the face.

"In a minute," she smiled.

It was closer to thirty. But they did eventually come up for air. Riddick went to meet the man standing patiently in the snow some hundred yards out from the front of the frigate. Zemma stood at the doorway marveling at the snow.

The clouds were very low, but the air was clear and not quite as cold as it had been. The light was very odd to Zemma's eye: ambient, not seeming to come from a single source but radiating from all the whiteness equally. It felt almost... cozy. She reached for some snow clinging to the handrail and marveled at its softness. She gripped the doorway and leaned out, looking around.

The trees were a contrast to the snow, but she could see between them in the strange twilight, better than in the daylight that cast such dark shadows. There seemed to be an abnormal hush, too. The air was so still, no wind in the branches and no birdsong. Everything felt very close.

Zemma took a hesitant step out, still clutching the doorway. The squeak of the snow beneath her boots surprised her; still, she didn't feel the nausea and shaking fear she expected. But she didn't dare let go of the door...yet. She simply marveled at being in the midst of the sparkling landscape, to be a part of it as some few tiny snowflakes floated lazily by her face and landed in her hair.

Zemma wasn't trying to listen to the conversation going on several hundred feet away, but clearly heard the tromp of Riddick's boots as he ran back a short ways.

"Get the ship ready to go!" He shouted. "Don't top off the oxygen tanks. I'll be a few hours." He turned to follow the figure down into the river valley, and odd set to his shoulders.

Zemma felt some trepidation. She didn't need a few hours to ready the ship, but Riddick's voice indicated some unknown danger. She stepped back inside quickly, sorry the spell of tranquility was broken. Sorry, too, Riddick had missed her big step. She turned away from the glittering setting regretfully, shutting the door without a backward look.

Jack stood a little way down the passage.

"He didn't even notice," Jack reflected a little grimly.

Zemma didn't respond in any way. She wasn't in a mood to play word games with Jack. She felt good, and planned to hold on to that as long as possible. She walked past the girl towards the cockpit, a blasé smile on her face.

"Doesn't that piss you off?" Jack asked Zemma's departing back.

"No. Jack." Zemma heard Jack's footsteps following behind her.

"It would piss me off."

"Why?" Zemma asked over her shoulder. She decided she'd warm up the engines and have breakfast. She was hungry enough that the rations might taste all right. She wondered why Riddick was so urgent about not topping off the oxygen.

"First he drags your ass out and watches you faint." Jack was following behind, sounding annoyed. "Then he doesn't even notice you step out on your own. Damn selfish bastard."

Zemma stopped, and rounded on Jack. Jack stopped short of crashing into Zemma, her eyes widened a little. Zemma waited another heartbeat before she spoke.

"Thank you, Jack." Another heartbeat later she smiled at the young woman and turned away again. She continued on to the pilot's deck, a small smile on her lips as she thought about the look of surprise on Jack's face.

Gotcha.

Zemma ran through the warm up routines. She couldn't check the hull, but Riddick had to know that.

Maybe you could?

No. It was only one step, and I never let go of the door.

But...someday.

Yes.

Maybe.

Someday.

"Where's he going this time?" Jack, apparently, decided to follow her.

"He didn't say. He sounded...worried." Zemma kept the concern out of her own voice. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No." Sullen.

Now what?

"Join me? We can play a little before he gets back."

"Yah, I guess."

"What's the matter, Jack?" Zemma kept working.

"Doesn't anything piss you off?"

Zemma laughed. "You've seen me mad."

"For about three seconds."

Zemma shrugged.

"He walks away without a word for two weeks, and hours later you're boffing him again." Jack sounded dismayed.

Zemma smiled to herself.

"He's just gonna keep treating you like shit till he leaves you." Bitterness.

Interesting point of view, Jack. But we're different people in different circumstances.

But how can I explain that to you?

"Why are you gonna let him walk all over you?"

Zemma thought about it a moment. "Gravity," she concluded.

Jack didn't say anything, at first. Finally, she laughed a little, remembering her own words about Riddick. Zemma was pleased to hear it. She'd grown up almost entirely without laughter, and didn't want to go the rest of her life without it.

She turned everything down to idle and hopped out of the pilot's seat. "Let's eat, Jack. I'm starved."

"You must be; you hate those things."

Zemma smiled, and nodded matter-of-factly.

"Hold 'Em today?" Jack asked.

"You cheat when we play Hold 'Em. You play all the other hands, and you deal."

"I'll let you deal."

She did let Zemma deal. And Jack seemed to be trying not to cheat. Still, they didn't talk much except about the hands, poker vernacular, and betting techniques. Zemma considered it a win anyway. It was down right sweet that Jack was concerned about her feelings, if only by means of how Jack herself felt.

"Remember, if it's your bet you can check or raise." Jack reminded her. "After a bet has been made all you can do is raise it again or call." Jack quickly picked up each hand she was playing in succession, making bets or folding with little hesitation.

Zemma called. They kept the bets in their heads, which suited Zemma. She was good with numbers. Jack's bets told Zemma she didn't have much, but by the time she reached her last hand, Jack would have a much greater idea of what cards were available than Zemma could with her single hand. Still, her cards were good enough to pay the price of the bet to see the first three cards, called the flop, turned over.

They bet again, and Jack threw in all but a single hand. All in all she had seen a dozen cards to Zemma's two. It was an unfair advantage for Jack. On the other hand, Zemma had an advantage of her own; she was learning to read Jack very well. Zemma called again, and threw the fourth card.

Jack and Zemma studied each other. All that was left was a final bet and the last card, called the River. Neither was going to fold now, but how much to raise? Zemma had an Ace and a Queen that was paired in the flop. Jack raised higher at the forth, called theturn card. It had been a ten, so Zemma assumed the girl paired it. Now Jack was trying to figure out from Zemma's bland calls what she could be holding.

Zemma kept her face blank, she was sure she had the better hand. All that was left was for Jack to decide her bet, Zemma to call, and turn the River card over. Zemma glanced at the watch on her wrist, a parting gift from Don, of all people. It had been three hours since Riddick left. Jack finally made her bet and Zemma called it. They turned over their cards, Jack did have a ten. Zemma turned dealt the River, a three, no help for either of them. Zemma's pair of queens (Ladies, she thought with an internal chuckle) won.

Zemma added up her winnings in her head, checked them against Jack's total, and started shuffling again. She paused when she heard a noise; Riddick had finally returned.

"He's back," Zemma mentioned casually.

"Let's go," Jack stood up.

"Don't hurry," Zemma grinned. "Sit down, wait for him. He'll find us."

He did.

"We're leaving. Now."

Zemma shuffled slowly, "Trouble?"

Jack was watching them both closely.

Riddick turned away, heading for the bridge. "I'm putting you both in cryo."

"No!" Jack jumped up. "I hate that shit."

"Tough," Riddick paused at the doorway, speaking over his shoulder. "I have to dump all the air out of this ship."

"Why?" Zemma was calmer sounding than Jack, but felt about the same.

Riddick didn't turn, he said only one word before leaving them both to deal with the concept without him.

"Plague."


	6. The Past, Part 1

**6. The Past, part 1**

Riddick joined the "Family" from prison. He wasn't the only one, certainly wasn't the first, or the last. He did become the most notorious, among the Family circles. To the rest of the universe he was either just a murderer, or a payday. To the Family, though, he was a Traitor.

The Family taught him to read. It also taught him to kill, efficiently. He was surprisingly smart considering his origin. He picked up languages fast, learned to pilot quickly, and had an affinity for weapons. Of course, his preferred weapons didn't take technical training, and his skills needed verylittle honing there.

Some felt he was too headstrong, a potential wildcard. He was difficult to motivate, when it suited him, and pain was seldom sufficient. But since he needed little to sway him towards violence, he passed the early psych tests on enthusiasm alone.

And Riddick knew a good situation when he saw one. The Family provided him anything and everything within reason, with the exception of mind-altering drugs. Women and alcohol were not forbidden, provided self-control was observed. The Family preferred you 'keep it in the family', but official 'tail' could be sought out with little effort. Only long-term relationships were strictly forbidden, outside the Family.

All of this suited Riddick's personality just fine. He enjoyed the benefits of authorized mayhem enough to play by the rules They set. Killing didn't bother him, and no one bothered him about his mutant eyes.

And the women...

Earth still segregated the sexes in prison; Riddick never cared to sample what was available. He was seventeen when the Family took him in, eighteen when one of his 'brothers' took him on his first visit to a certified tail. Nineteen when his 'sisters' discovered him and he quit having to pay for it. For a little while the women alone kept him motivated to perform.

Maturity, and availability, mellowed him eventually. However, the missions never seemed to fail to provide him with excitement. Stalking his prey never tired him. Surviving strange and dangerous terrain always thrilled him. Living one more day than the last, when no one thought he could, or perhaps should, gave him the strength to live one more day than that.

He never had any reason to disobey, or vary much from any assignment. He considered it a matter of personal self-control to stick to every detail of an objective, yet always planned for contingencies, and could be flexible when necessary to achieve the goal. Still, he avoided leadership, preferring to work alone, preferring to kill alone. His handlers respected that. The Family was never short of Chiefs to tell the Indians what to do.

That was the only drawback to the being a part of the Family. Frequently what they were sent in to do one week needed undoing the next. Riddick didn't care, his particular trade could never be undone. He never tried to look at the bigger picture. His life functioned best right now. Yesterday was set, tomorrow too unformed; the only reality was today.

So when he was given an assignment to track down an AWOL 'mule', and destroy the package she was supposed to have delivered, he didn't think it would alter the course of his life. That she used to be a part of the Family didn't matter to him, either. He'd never met her; she wasn't in the now for him. While some, older and perhaps wiser, considered her a traitor (small 't'), Riddick only thought of her as a mission.

As it turned out, she was his last mission.

They shouldn't have asked him to kill a child.

Riddick had been watching the waitress for a week, usually from a table in the corner. She didn't strike him as a former Family member; she seemed too normal. He'd already followed her home, memorized her daily routines. She worked nights in this shitty little bar, took her daughter to school every morning, slept till the girl got home. They went to the park in the afternoons and did homework, then back to their shitty little apartment for dinner and the routine started over again.

It wasn't the most challenging undertaking of his career.

What he didn't have yet was the location, and nature, of the package this courier had failed to deliver; They hadn't contacted him about it yet. They had assured him that she still had it with her. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't be worth any money.

The waitress smiled at him again. He'd been quietly flirting with her for days. He could break into her apartment without her ever knowing, unless she was better than she appeared to be. Still, an invite would kill some time as well as giving him a look around. The bar was nearly empty now; Riddick threw some money on the table and walked towards the door, keeping eye contact with...

Carlota. That's what the bartender called her. She'd been Carmen in the Family.

She tipped her head a little at him so he winked. She smiled back. Good enough. He'd wait for her outside and see how it went from there.

Riddick didn't normally smoke, but it was usually the simplest form of camouflage. No one looked twice at a man leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. He waited for the bar to close and the waitress, Carlota, to appear.

He ended up lighting another. Assassinations took time, planning, and finally, patience. Still, this was not an elimination, just trace and demolish, a little below his skill level. No worries, he was serene. He listened to the quiet, and enjoyed the tranquility, of the night.

She appeared in time, looking harried and tired. But her face lit up a little when she spotted him. That was good. He grinned back at her, dropped his butt and stepped on it.

Small talk ensued, and more smiles from her. He wasn't the most charming man in the Family, his sisters had informed him, but his handsome, brooding presence had a kind of magnetism that made up for it. They had coached him when he was younger, until he realized he didn't really have to talk much to bed a woman. The waitress put her arm through his and led the way.

"Shh. My daughter is sleeping. I don't want to wake her. And I want you gone by morning," she whispered to him as she unlocked the door.

Riddick took his first look around the inside of her apartment; neat and clean, but as run down as the rest of her life. He wondered again why anyone would leave the Family for this.

For a chance to have a kid?

But then why keep a package she was supposed to deliver? As insurance? She had to know she couldn't stand against the capacity of the Family. Could she have completed her mission and simply left on good terms?

Why did they wait nearly a decade to decide to retrieve the package?

That wasn't the kind of question he normally entertained. It was one that plagued him this week, though. Why wait? She couldn't have been that hard to find.

He let it go.

She took his hand and led him through the dark, a dark that was quite clear to him, to her small bedroom. He saw no hiding places, just age and squalor. The tiny apartment could conceal nothing.

"Take your sun glasses off. I know the bar is over-lit with neon signs but..." She reached for his face.

"No," he didn't explain. He redirected her hand inside his shirt. She stroked his skin lightly as he unbuttoned her shirt. "You smell beautiful," he whispered.

"You're full of shit," but she smiled when she said it. "You don't have to talk, now." She shrugged her shirt off. "You've got me half naked already."

"Mmm," he answered readily, as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

She ran her fingernails lightly over his abdomen and he moaned a little. Then they threw themselves at each other, clutching and ripping at their remaining clothes without more preamble.

The waitress tucked one foot behind Riddick's and tipped him in a classic throw onto her bed. Riddick laughed as she threw herself on top of him. Apparently there was a little of Carmen, and the Family training and attitude, left in her. He let her have her way with him, with only token resistance.

They ended tangled and sweaty.

"Thirsty?" She whispered.

"Mmm," he agreed.

She hopped out of bed with more energy than he could muster right that moment. She returned quickly with a glass of water, and a handgun pointed at him.

She drank some water and sat lightly on the edge of a chair, still naked and completely relaxed. The end of the small pistol never wavered.

"Why is the Family suddenly back in my life?"

Riddick fluffed the pillow, laced his fingers behind his head, and regarded the woman coolly. "Who?"

"Don't play games with me," she took another drink of the water and set it on the floor near her feet. "You've been on me for a week. Why now?"

Not 'why', but 'why now'. That was his question too. He didn't have an answer.

"You didn't deliver the package, Carmen."

"Oh, yes, I delivered it." She barked a sharp bitter laugh. "I just didn't turn it over."

Riddick didn't have a response. He was here for the package, word games be damned, and he was going to destroy it, per his orders.

"You can't have her," Carmen/Carlota's voice was flat, cold and dangerous. Definitely the Family attitude.

Her? The package was a...

The package was her daughter.

Riddick froze, inside and out.


	7. Ceasefire

**7. Ceasefire**

Jack's face went pale.

Zemma understood what the word plague meant: deadly disease. But, like 'ivory tower', she had no context to place it. Obviously Jack and Riddick knew better… or worse.

Jack followed Riddick from the room. "We've been here two weeks, Riddick!"

"Don't worry about it," he replied, his voice getting a little fainter as he stalked down the hallway towards the bridge area.

"But, Riddick…" Jack's voice was louder. She wasn't following.

Zemma sat where she was, slowly shuffling the cards, digesting what she could.

"I said go to the med lab! I'll put you in cryo, and blow out the air." His voice fading, sounding irritated.

Zemma didn't understand the urgency. As Jack had said, they'd been there two weeks already. Surely even a virulent disease needed some sort of contact to spread? Air born pathogens of the magnitude Jack seemed to fear must be pretty rare.

Riddick too. He wants to get rid of the air we've taken on.

Still, it would have to be a pretty exceptional disease to affect us up on this plateau without any contact from the local population.

He sounded worried. Don't you trust him to know what he's doing?

Precautions. That's all.

He knows something.

He always does… Damn it.

Zemma put the cards in her pocket and straightened up after their meager meal. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Zemma followed Riddick's path to the small bridge.

She stood in the doorway watching him work smoothly over the controls, double-checking her work, and preparing the ship for flight.

"Riddick?"

"What?!"

Fuck! Was every conversation going to become an argument?

"Are we really in so much danger?" She kept her voice soft.

"I just want off this dirtball," he growled.

Hmn. Something left unsaid there. Zemma considered her response, and tone of voice, carefully.

"Can we catch this plague? Just from being up here?" Quiet, anxious voice; not quite the little girl that was Min, but close. Closer than she'd been in a long time.

Please, just tell me the truth.

Riddick didn't answer right away. She could see by the set of his shoulders he was also considering carefully. "You could get sick, Zem." He sounded odd. He wasn't lying, but he was still concealing something.

Check. He's checking his bet. What's he holding back?

"You think you're immune, though?"

"Probably." Simple declaration. He believed it. Zemma wasn't sure she should.

Should I call him on it?

"And Jack?"

"Get to the med lab. We're going up fast. You'll be more comfortable in cryo."

"No." Without rancor; she simply was not going to do it.

"Please." Just his offering the word, not begging, or even asking.

Still, she considered it. It was sincere in its own way.

The engines were powered up. Riddick finished setting his course, a steep one, apparently. He stood to leave the small space but Zemma still blocked his path.

"Talk to me." She tried again.

They stared at each other. Yet another challenge, just a silent argument. Zemma felt like giving in just to get it over with. She couldn't of course, but she wanted to.

He looked like he wanted to as well.

"Follow me." He sighed, capitulating. He waited for her to step aside, though he could have brushed passed her at any time.

He's trying.

He led the way down the corridor to a room she hadn't been in. She hadn't really explored the little ship. He opened the door with a master key. He didn't turn on the lights so Zemma just twitched up her lenses and followed him in.

The room was a master suite. She hadn't realized these little cruisers had them, but supposed she should have at least thought about it.

"Is this the captain's quarters?" She let her voice be light and teasing.

"It was supposed to be yours." His was not light, or teasing.

Oops.

"How did you end up in that little berth?" Irritation. Something he'd been hiding, but not what she was digging for.

She kinda laughed to break the tension. "Jack." She shrugged but couldn't see the details of his face to know how he was responding. "She was yammering at me. Trying to stir up shit about how I wouldn't be able to handle the real universe." Zemma paused, trying not to rush and sound defensive. She didn't really want either of her shipmates to know how much Jack -could- get under her skin. It gave Jack way too much power over the both of them. "I just opened a door, saw a bunk, and tossed my things in."

"I gave you directions." Still flat, but not so icy. Chastising her, but not so harshly that she'd get reactive.

"Things were a little strained between us that week," she reminded him needlessly, trying to keep her attitude light and airy despite her words. This dance didn't feel as entertaining as it used to… before they'd had sex. Everything felt so much more critical now.

New Now, new deal, new hand.

Zemma sighed and moved towards Riddick in the dark. Everything seemed okay in the dark, when they were naked, and just collaborating towards a mutual objective. But was that all there was? All they could have?

She came close to him, but didn't touch. He was looking down at her, she turned her head up, and looked at the planes of his face in the soft blues and purples her lenses afforded. She inhaled slowly, savoring the scent of him. She wanted to touch him, even reached out, unconsciously, for his face, but stopped herself short, hand hovering next to his cheek.

Stop it, Zem. Damn. Come up for air, girl!

"Talk to me," she repeated her simple request, without the neediness she felt.

Riddick took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "This plague," he tipped his head into her palm and paused for a moment. He seemed to have the same thought as she, as he reach up and captured her hand in his, pulling it away. His voice continued, slightly more business-like. "I know it. I know where it came from. It isn't natural. It's a weapon."

He paused so long that Zemma wondered if he planned to say any more. They stood in the dark, and watching each other for any indications of… what? Fear from her? Or another invasion into his personal history? She watched him for any chink in his armor that would let her inside. It was a standoff; neither gave anything away to the other.

Zemma looked away first, shaking her head and grinning at yet another challenge.

"What's so funny?" Slight suspicion.

"Damn, Riddick. You could have told me that half an hour ago. Why all the drama? Why do I have to drag every word out of you like it hurts?" She was both exasperated and mystified. "What is it you think I'm going to do in the face of the truth?"

"I'm just trying to protect you." That sounded a little more defensive than she expected.

Damn it.

"One little kidnapping and you get all crazed." She was forcing the humor; didn't care if he saw it, as long as he responded to it.

"One?" Thank the stars, the sarcasm was back in his voice.

"Okay, two." She grinned, a genuine smile. "But I don't think that first one should count because I was in my own room."

"You were supposed to be in MINE." Softly chiding her; softly declaring something.

That something made her tingle.

Zemma put her other hand up to his face. "Damn it. Get me alone in a room with you and I suddenly forget everything else outside." She forced herself to step back, her fingers trailing away from his cheek slowly.

She took a deep breath, counted to twelve, and let it out, standing straighter as she did so. "Okay, Captain. What's the drill here? You want Jack and I to go into cryo. You pop us up into orbit. Then what? Space suit for you? Reduce us to vacuum then re-pressurize?"

"We didn't pack one." Tricky bastard was playing _that_ a little too cool.

Zemma decided to call him on this one. "Plan on rigging a dead man's switch to turn the air back on?"

Check. He didn't respond.

"No way." She didn't raise her voice at all. "No fucking way. Riddick I can't navigate. I can fly up and down, not from star to star. I couldn't even begin to…"

"Nothing is gonna happen." Calm, authoritative, and nearly convincing.

"Damn right. I'm not going in. I'm going with you." She tried to copy his tone.

Go ahead, call me.

"No."

"You can't make…" the rest of her sentence didn't make it out of her mouth as Riddick picked her up. With a 'whoomph', all the air in her was lost as he landed her torso across his shoulder. She was suddenly half upside down, her feet pinned in his hands.

"I'll tell you more when I take you out of cryo." He strode for the door.

"Fuck!" It was all she could think of.

"That's a promise." Wry humor… now?

Zemma's mouth quirked into half a smile, half grimace of irritation. "You're gonna tell me when you learned Furyan, too." He was going to win this hand unless she caught a lucky break. But she was going make him pay if she could.

"What makes you think I know Furyan?"

His long strides were making her bounce across his back, or she'd have bitten him.

Damn it. Bounce.

Damn it. Bounce.

Damn it…

She finally figured out she could push her hands against his lower back to support herself a little and not flop around like a sack of laundry. The ceiling was too low to attempt to flip back over his shoulder, even if she could catch him off guard enough. His grip was frustratingly tight. All she could do was get upright and bash her head.

"This isn't smart, Riddick. If it was just you, I could understand your logic. But you can't seriously consider leaving Jack and I stuck sleeping in a dead ship in orbit around a backwater world if anything goes wrong." She was trying to sound reasonable with the breath getting knocked out of her every other word.

He didn't respond to her. But she felt the muscles in his shoulder tighten. Whether it related to her words or her attempts to move was impossible to discern. She fervently hoped it was the former.

They entered the med lab.

"Jesus, Riddick! You about scare me half to death, then take time for a little slap and tickle?"

Oh, Jack. Don't I wish.

"Shut it. Get in. Don't give me any shit." He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't brooking any argument from her either. He didn't move Zemma from her embarrassing position.

Zemma heard Jack mumbling unsavory speculation about Riddick's mother. "You sure you wouldn't rather have me help get her locked down?" Jack's old faithful sneer was back in her voice. Well, Zemma had known the ceasefire wouldn't last.

Riddick moved around a bit, apparently trying to assist Jack one handed, as she was cussing his interference. "I got it, damn it. Stop helping. Just push the buttons." He turned away so that Zemma faced Jack's scornful look before the lid slid into place.

Machinery purred, and Jack's eyes glazed a little before closing. The little coffin would expel the remaining air as the chemicals surging into Jack's veins took the place of oxygen. Helium would fill the space to keep the pressure stable and assist her lungs when it was time to wake up.

If she does.

"Riddick. Please." Not begging, but on the verge of it.

He set her down on her feet in front of him. They were essentially in the same position they'd been in five minutes ago. She looking up a little; he looking down. They studied each other's faces, this time in light. Riddick's lenses were down, so she was actually looking into liquid brown eyes, instead of electric blue.

And… he's looking at your face, Zem.

First, and last, time?

She pushed the thought away. Her eyes cut to the door behind Riddick.

"Don't even think about it." He growled.

Zemma sighed, and looked back at him. She might be fast enough, but what was the point?

"You gonna do exactly," he emphasized this, drawing out the word slowly, "what I tell you?"

Zemma only hesitated a heartbeat. "Yes." She was feeling defeated and fearful, but was NOT going to let it show.

At least you're not claustrophobic.

That was funny once. Hell, it wasn't even funny then.

"No stunts. I mean it. I don't have time to fight with you."

Last chance to tell him you love him.

"No."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No stunts. Let's get on with it." And, this better fucking work. Perfectly.

He studied her face a moment longer before he nodded. "Good. Help me find some ear plugs." And just like, that he turned away. "We'll get you a pair of my goggles when we go back up front."

Zemma stared at his back and counted again before she could propel herself into action. She glanced at the empty, and now redundant, cryo tube.

This better fucking work.


	8. Endless to Absent

**8. Endless to Absent **

They found four sets of earplugs, for their ears and their noses. Riddick led the way again back to the front of the ship, stopping at the dark, and unused, quarters for a pair of his goggles. Zemma suddenly had an epiphany.

"You thought I ran away again, when I didn't move into this room." She kept her voice quiet. "That's why the respect and manipulation comments." Zemma shook her head, finally getting it. How could she be so slow? Sleeping in the pilot's seat? She shook her head, exasperated with herself.

Riddick didn't reply. She didn't expect him to. When he turned to hand her the goggles she caught him with a quick kiss, up on her toes, her hand against his chest for balance. His arm snaked around and caught her, pulling her in.

"I…"

"Shhh." He stopped her with another quick kiss. "I don't need you to say it." He turned her loose and pulled the goggles over her head so they were resting on her forehead. "Let's go."

Bastard. You did learn Furyan behind my back. Courtesy of Jaron, no doubt.

She followed him. He didn't head straight for the front of the ship, but to a storage locker.

"We need enviro suits. When the air goes, so will the heat."

Zemma's was way too big for her, Riddick's a little tight. "It wouldn't look like salvage if it was tailored," he joked.

Zemma didn't have anything witty to reply. She just smiled, and followed him to the flight deck, but took the navigator's chair instead of the co-pilots.

"How many steps to do this thing?" She asked, referring to the dump and re-pressurize.

"Doing it manually? About seven."

"Is there already going to be an auto-process?" She was strapped in now and turning on the computer terminal in front of her.

"Probably was before I burned it. It's got bare minimum programs now."

Zemma was starting to wonder about this salvage idea. She felt the engines power to full, and the anti-grav kick in. "How much time to the top?"

"I can get us there in about six minutes."

"Do we really need to rush?"

"It's not the plague I'm worried about. Can you write the program in six minutes?"

The screen she needed finally popped up. "Yup." The programs were simple code, nothing she hadn't seen before.

"Hang on to your breakfast. This might hurt a little."

Zemma was typing as fast as she could, not sure what the next six minutes would bring. All the information was already there, she just needed a quickie program that would run them all sequentially when they pushed either one of two buttons she'd picked off the instrument panel.

Gravity hit her like nothing she'd ever felt. She had to take a full minute to concentrate on just breathing, her hands sitting heavily in her lap. Counting heartbeats was a little scary so she had to stop. She turned her head -it took an eternity- to look at Riddick. His hands were still on the controls but she could see the tension through his whole body. It looked painful.

Five minutes more of this, and you need to finish the program, girlie.

Zemma lifted her hands back to the keyboard. It took just a little bit longer than forever, and was possibly the hardest thing she'd ever done.

Harder than sticking a knife in your own mother?

Damn voice.

She screwed up the last line of code when her fingers hit the keyboard like lumps.

Might as well type with your feet.

She gritted her teeth and tried again. She fixed what she had undone and moved on. Three minutes. She wasn't going to finish on time. She hoped Riddick's timetable was more precaution than necessity. She plugged along, trying to move carefully and ignore the pain in her forearms and shoulders; trying not to make more mistakes that would cost her time.

"Riddick." She didn't like the sound of her voice with her lungs clear down in her feet.

"Yah." He sounded strained too.

"I can't…" Gasp "…fin'sh this…" Gasp "…in time." Gasp "Izit crit?" Gasp "Can I…" Gasp "…'ave six…" Gasp "…min'ts…" Gasp "…at top?"

"Yah."

Zemma sat back in relief.

The last two minutes were still an eternity of painful pressure and intense nausea. She ran the lines she planned to type through her mind, till she was sure she could do it blindfolded in less than three minutes.

When they popped out of atmosphere, and gravity quit being their most immediate threat, it took Zemma a few seconds to realize it. They weren't in freefall, but for those first few seconds Zemma felt like it. She had to clench her jaw and order her stomach to behave, whatever it's current position in her body might be.

"Get it done." Riddick's voice was still a little strained.

Zemma didn't dare reply. She just reached for the keyboard and let her fingers work. Her eyes only tracking for mistakes, what she was seeing was actually in her head. Time went from endless to absent. At some point her breathing got back to normal. She didn't notice.

"Done." She unbuckled and dove to the co-pilot's next to Riddick. She didn't buckle in right away, but unzipped her suit a little and reached into her pocket for her deck of cards. She glanced at Riddick who was looking at her curiously. "Dead man's switch." She handed the top card to Riddick and took one for herself. The rest she put back in her pocket before she buckled up.

Riddick set the card on his knee and pulled the earplugs out of his pocket. "We have to hold out for at least 2 minutes; thirty seconds to flush out, and two minutes plus to re-pressurize this room. Still up for it?"

She didn't bother to answer; there wasn't one. She was just going to do it.

"You know how to dog the door if it doesn't seal?"

Zemma nodded. She'd lived her whole life in space and she knew that drill even if she'd never had to do it; the Basilica functioned perfectly. She glanced at the door and tried not to worry about Riddick's 'salvage' job.

"This is your toggle," Zemma pointed out his; she knew hers. "If either of us drops our card, we hit it early." Her voice was firm on the matter. "The program will close that door and start pushing air in here first."

"I don't want to do this twice."

"Tough." She put in her earplugs first so she couldn't hear him argue. Well, she could but she would pretend she couldn't.

Riddick was breathing deep and fast, Zemma followed suit. She pulled her goggles down and made sure they sealed neatly around her eyes. The plugs up her nose were uncomfortable, but that was the least of her concerns. She held up her card and waited for Riddick to do the same. She couldn't see his eyes; the cards would be their only means of communication for a short time.

He took a deep breath and held his up. Zemma was as ready as she could be. She hit execute, the first part of her program started. The results were mostly as expected. She started counting down in her head, trying not to let her card get whisked out of her hand.

The cold wasn't expected. She knew it would happen quickly. She knew it would be colder than anything she'd ever known. It still surprised her, even in the enviro suit. She felt her face and fingers freeze immediately.

Nineteen.

Eighteen.

Seventeen.

She thought she could hold her breath more or less easily, but her body was shaking from the absolute lack of any heat, making it a strain.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

She kept her eyes on Riddick's face. Frost had already condensed on his nose and cheeks. She imagined it must be the same for her. She couldn't tell, she couldn't feel anything. She had to look at the card in her hand to be sure she still had it.

Six.

Six?

Was it six?

She looked back to Riddick. He was still as stone, which was no help in knowing if he was more okay than she was. But his card was still locked in his frosty fingers. She glanced at the switch. Was it time? She felt like she was about to burst. Was it time, yet!

Riddick's head slowly shook a millimeter from side to side.

Wait. Just wait. He's okay. He'll know when. It's only thirty seconds. Piece of cake.

And another minute at least before there's enough air to breathe.

If the door seals. If one of us doesn't have to un-strap and dog it closed.

Riddick's hand was reaching slowly towards to toggle that would start the second part of the program. Zemma tried to follow, found her arm responding too slowly. The cold had seeped into her bones, making more than her thinking difficult. She pushed against the resistance of her own limb.

Riddick reached the switch first. No dexterity was required, he brushed it with the back of his knuckles; his fingers no doubt as difficult to control as Zemma's arm. The door to the smallish room slammed shut. No alarm sounded, no need to try to seal the door manually. Pressure, and precious air, was slowly being restored.

Zemma's arms dropped to her lap and she could feel heat radiating up from the floor again. She clutched to the card and started counting again, struggling against the shivers that wracked her whole body just to keep her concentration.

One. Two. Three. Four…

Her throat felt tight, her lungs desperate for action. Zemma clenched her jaw and kept her eyes on Riddick. He hadn't moved the arm on the control panel, it still rested there. The other he dropped, like Zemma's, to his lap. But he still held his card, and Zemma's gaze.

He didn't need me. It worked fine.

…Twenty-one… Twenty-two…

Zemma felt a rushing in her head, starting from the back and reaching forward like long fingers. She could hear her pulse very loudly in her ears. Her heart was thumping hard, desperately, against the hollow drum of her chest. It was actually becoming painful to hold her lungs in check against the urgent instinct to survive, the need to breathe.

A new pain distracted her. Her numb fingers were no longer numb, but spiking pain as they warmed up from the heat radiating from the floor.

Lovely.

Thirty-six… Thirty-seven…

Could have taken a nice little nap, but no.

Zemma realized it had only been a little over a minute since they started this. Ten minutes ago she'd been kissing him in the dark and grasping what a fool she could be.

Then you had to go prove what a new kind of fool you could be.

Zemma growled, some of the air in her escaping. Riddick, still unmoving and unreadable, raised an eyebrow. She twitched up a small smile, knowing it probably looked more like a grimace.

Forty-seven.

Getting there.

Zemma could feel the slightest movement that was air across her face, and had to remind herself it wasn't enough yet. She could expel what she had in her and not be able to take enough back in. She'd pass out from asphyxia. She had to hold on to what she had; it would be enough, if she didn't waste any more.

The fingers of darkness were reaching further forward.

Seventy-nine.

Eighty.

Just a few more seconds. Don't embarrass yourself.

Zemma swallowed hard. Riddick sat up a little in response. She lifted the palm of her right hand to stop him. But another tiny gasp of air escaped her. Riddick's free hand flew to his chest and unbuckled his harness.

What's he think he's gonna do? We just have to wait it out now.

You're going to have to wait on the sidelines, Zem.

Blackness was coming. She wouldn't die. Before that could happen there would be enough air to breathe again. She just didn't want to humiliate herself in front of Riddick.

Cold fingers were on her face, pressing at her jaw line. Cold lips were against hers. Her mouth opened to his and she felt him expel air into her. It wasn't much, but it pushed back the darkness a little. She opened her eyes, only to see his goggles looking back at her.

How much longer? She had lost count.

Riddick expelled a little more air into her mouth and Zemma accepted it gratefully. She felt him try to inhale through his nose…

When did he take the plugs out?

…but a tiny negative motion with his head told her she had to hold on a little longer.

Zemma brought her free hand up to the back of his head and stroked there lightly. She turned his practical lock on her mouth into a more pleasurable one. She figured the next thirty seconds would go by much quicker… with a little distraction.

It wasn't long before she realized he was breathing for both of them, inhaling through his nose and pushing the air into her. She allowed herself to breathe out and felt it exit his nose onto her cheek. It was strange, silly even. She broke away from him to laugh nasally, and got light headed.

Not enough oxygen in here for that.

She pulled the nose plugs out quickly and went back to kissing him. This time they could breathe the thin air for themselves. It gave Jack's sarcastic line to them new meaning. Zemma wanted to giggle again.

The proximity alarm drew Riddick's attention away.

"Shit!"

He threw himself back into the pilot's seat and strapped in quickly, his hands flying over the controls.

"What?"

"That's what I was afraid of." He pointed to a display on the panel that identified the fast approaching ships.

"Who are they?" Zemma could recognize the code that showed the types of crafts coming -war vessels, lots of guns and fast moving- but not their origin.

"Earthlings."


	9. Hijacked

**9. Hijacked**

Jack hated sleeping. She always had such vivid dreams. Cryo was particularly bad for dreams, and she always remembered them clearly. It was less like sleeping and more like being held captive.

The dreams hit her fast as the chemicals threw her into unconsciousness without preface. Memories flooded past her cognizant defenses like water. The death of her mother was always first. Always.

They'd been running their whole lives. Then they'd simply run out of luck.

Her mother's dead face stared out of the dark at her. There was nothing to do but run again. She would follow the escape route her mother had planned, and drilled her on, taking little with her. The stash of cash, the passport, a set of clothes, something to eat so she could stay in her hole until the possibility of pursuit had passed.

And the book.

Her mother had taught her to read from that book; the story was burned in her mind. As she grew older the story made more sense: it was the subtext of her own life. The letter in the book, on the other hand, made no sense to her, but it had spoken volumes to her mother when she received it. It was, apparently, a code. Her mother never taught her the code, but Jack knew what it meant anyway.

It had been from someone in her family. It had told her she was being betrayed. It told her to run. She did. And she never stopped running.

She had to go back into the room where her mother lay to retrieve the book.

Her mother's eyes were still open, staring, and dry. Nine-year-old Jack could not stop looking back into those dead eyes. The book lay on the table next to the bed. Jack slid a step closer, then another, still unable to look away. Her mother's mouth was open, showing a dry, swollen tongue. Another step closer and Jack had to face the means of her mother's death.

A black cord was wrapped tightly around her mother's neck. Around it, her mother's throat was swollen and purple. Her fingers had gouged her own flesh around the cord in her fight for life.

Jack snatched the book and fled the room, the apartment, and the only thing she'd ever known and loved.

She didn't love the book, but she felt a need to keep it. No one glancing at it's title would guess it related to her so personally. They would just think she was reading a classic that had been made into many popular vids.

The memories blended into the disjointed images that were real dreaming. The dead face of her mother was replaced by the pale, but very living, face of her benefactress. The rest of the images that plagued her were just as familiar. Only their order of appearance varied. Jack was captive to it all.

…

Riddick killed all power to the engines, letting them freefall dead a moment while he studied what the sensors told him about the approaching ships. Dissatisfied, he used control jets to push them back down into atmosphere and the planet's gravity.

Zemma said nothing, watching Riddick work silently, and wondering about his last word to her. Earthlings. And the plague (which was really a weapon), that didn't worry him as much as these.

He kicked the engines on again once they had fallen deep into the atmosphere, and headed them towards one of the poles. Zemma noted how carefully he was watching the magnetic field gauge. Riddick caught her looking on.

"If we hover right here, where the magnetic fields converge, and the solar winds are at their fiercest, we should be invisible to everything but direct line of sight."

"Clever!" Zemma was impressed. She wouldn't have thought of that, but would never forget it.

Then Riddick did something new, and still unfathomable. He popped them straight up, out of that safety zone, and back down again.

"What was that for?"

"Can't see them any better than they can see me. But I have the advantage of knowing where they were last."

"Still where you expected?"

"Mmm hmm."

"How long are we going to stay here?"

"Long as necessary."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Zemma had some questions she wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if now was the time. Riddick seemed intent on watching the instruments; on the other hand, he was a master of distraction and could just be avoiding her questions as well as her eyes. They popped back up and down again.

"Now there's something I wasn't expecting." Riddick sounded amused, rather than startled.

Zemma waited to see if he would elaborate.

After a few silent minutes they repeated the pop and drop. Riddick smiled.

"Well? You gonna make me beg?" Zemma grinned, knowing he would hear the double entendre.

Riddick turned his head a little to look at her with one eyebrow raised. She couldn't see his eyes, as he was still wearing his goggles, but she imagined they might be glinting with humor.

"You know, I like it when you beg," he mused as if considering.

"Mmm hmm. But you promised to tell me what's going on."

"I promised?" He turned to look at her again quickly as if double-checking that he had, in fact, promised. He suppressed a grin. "I thought I promised to…"

"You're terrible," she told him in Furyan.

"I know," he replied in the same language with a mischievous grin.

Zemma threw her goggles, hitting him in the chest. "Don't keep me in the dark, Riddick. 'Curiosity killed the cat.' You know I'll go digging for it."

"You can't get into as much trouble here as you could on the Basilica." He was grinning and half looking at her, to make sure everything was still all in fun.

"Tell me about Jack." She decided to go straight to the big bet.

"I don't know that much," he hedged.

Zemma suddenly thought that what he did know made him a little sad.

"Then tell me about this viral weapon, and the Earthers."

"Earthlings," he corrected. She found that interesting. He still thought of himself as one of them: an EarthLING, not Earthers.

"The plague is pretty specific. But when I left, its delivery system was…" He paused, searching for the right word. "Hijacked," he finished.

"How does Jack know about it then? She looked pretty scared. She didn't even put up a fuss when you put her in cryo."

"Someone must have told her." His face dropped into a scowl.

Zemma watched his face and waited for more. There was more, she was sure, that he was leaving out. But he could be so damn stubborn!

So can you, Zem.

Only when I'm not sure about something…

He only ever does anything for a reason.

So that means he isn't sure either…

Riddick must have been keeping close track of the minutes. Zemma was, out of habit. At precisely the same interval since the last pop up maneuver, he did it again. A smug look replaced his doubtful one.

"Got you."

"What did you find?" She figured that was a safe question.

"Someone else playing hide and seek out in the system." He glanced over at her to watch her reaction. "It's a runner from the Basilica."

Zemma raised her eyebrows at him, not disbelieving exactly, just not comprehending why the Basilica would send anyone after them. They should be running high-speed by now; any runner they sent would never be able to catch them again.

"Jaron or Don?" He asked her, as if making a wager.

"Not Jaron. He's their Lord Marshal now." Zemma knew Jaron loved leading, and had been an excellent ruler before the 'Mongers came.

"They won't call him that. President, I think. But yah, I bet it's Don."

Zemma hadn't thought about the title change, but concurred. Everything 'Monger would be supplanted by Furyan ways. President had been a new title for them, her father had been the first, and even then, it had only been for a few short months. But she knew if the Furyans were asked they would all vote Jaron their leader.

She felt a sudden pang of loss for the man who had become her surrogate father. "President doesn't seem nearly noble enough for him," she mused. "He should stay their Lord."

Riddick shook his head curtly. "You were raised a 'Monger. You're no more Furyan than I am." Riddick's voice was a little dismissive. It caught Zemma off-guard, and she felt her mental armor snap up.

Ferrin raised me Furyan!

She didn't argue with him on this point. What could be gained?

Riddick glanced her way again, must have seen the closed up look on her face. His lips became a fine line. "Don't take it personal," he grumbled.

Zemma worked to smooth her features into a mask of unconcern. Inside she was busy examining why her feelings were so hurt by that, possibly accurate, statement. She modulated her voice to express real curiosity. "Why do you think Don came after us?"

"No way to know except to ask him."

They popped up again, but this time didn't fall back down into the maelstrom of magnetic and solar camouflage. Riddick angled them down the dark side of the planet, heading in-system.

Riddick glanced at her again. She put on a smile for him that was meant to say, 'no hard feelings.' He wasn't buying it.

"Zemma…" he started out, a little defensive.

"You said the delivery system was hijacked? Did you mean Jack knew about the plague, or the hijacking?" Zemma jumped in. "And you said, 'when you left,' but I still don't know what you left."

Riddick sighed. He was caught between an apology he didn't really feel was necessary, and personal information he was in the habit of keeping secret. Zemma might have been amused at the look on his face, if she weren't just a little annoyed with him right then.

"That stuff you looked up about me," he spoke slowly, as if still not sure which was really the lesser of the two evils he was about to speak. "Some of it was true. I did kill my guardian and go to prison as a kid." His lips pressed back into a thing line. More on that he wouldn't speak of. He went on…

"Sometime around sixteen or seventeen I was recruited. They bought my way out of prison. Trained me. Made me a part of their elite force."

Zemma waited for some clarification, in vain. She had to pry everything from him, and she didn't like how it made her feel. She needed to know something about what just happened on the planet, though. Jack was involved somehow, and if this trip was really more about her than for Zemma's benefit, she should know what they were doing and why.

"Riddick," she started softly. "Please, just tell me what's going on. I don't have anyone to spill your secrets to. But Jack's worried. You're worried. Shouldn't I get to be worried too?"

Riddick snorted, a corner of his mouth tweaked up in half a smile. "Think Don'll want the benefit of being worried too?"

"Whatever drove him to look for us, he's stuck with us till we meet the Basilica at Fury."

Riddick didn't comment. It made her wonder: They were still planning on going to Fury, weren't they? Despite Riddick's comment, they were still Furyans under the skin.

"I'll tell you both when we pick him up." He wasn't smiling anymore.


	10. Silence and Speculations

**10. Silence and Speculations**

The little skiff was made to dock and lock smoothly onto the larger frigate. It was perhaps the only craft capable of speeds greater than the heavier armored 'light' vessel. Frigates were fast and maneuverable, but the message runner exchanged armor and armament for big, 'silent' engines. It was too light, however, to surpass the velocity of the giant engines that powered the Basilica and her sister ships into FTL speeds, without being torn apart. It was meant to run errands during battle, dodging rather than fighting, not cross the open galaxy on it's own.

Fortunately, Riddick's purposeful destruction did not include ruining the port connection.

They didn't use any communications that might bleed over into other channels, and other ears. Riddick hunted the ship where it hid. It led them away, at first. Zemma didn't understand why until they had moved into the orbit of a gas giant's cluttered rings: more camouflage. They would just be more debris circling in the giant's barrage of radio static.

The runner turned and darted over the top of them. There was the slightest bump felt through the hull as it made contact. Riddick set the frigate to idle and watched the gauges a moment to be sure they were staying in their orbit. When he unbelted again Zemma followed suit.

"Let's go see what kind of mess we made back there."

Zemma thought he might also have meant 'back there on the Basilica,' but didn't comment. She picked up her dropped cards and started unzipping her en-suit.

In the main areas of the ship there wasn't much of a mess to speak of. Zemma kept the kitchen clean of the remains of their rations, and there was nothing really loose to fly about from the decompression. Some heavier items, like bed covers, had made their way into the hallway but no further in the brief moments it took to blow the air out. Gravity had kept the heavier items mostly in place. Zemma thought they were lucky; they should have prepared more, it could have been disastrous.

Riddick went ahead to meet Don, or whoever had followed them from the Basilica, while Zemma kicked things back into rooms and shut those doors. She didn't really have the energy to do more; the air outside the pilot's cabin was still rather thin. She stuffed her suit into the nearest locker.

She peeked in on Jack. There appeared to be nothing wrong with her cryo tube. Zemma debated letting the girl out now, or waiting for Riddick's order.

Order?

He might want to tell us something Jack doesn't know, or shouldn't know.

But, 'order'?

Zemma mentally shrugged. Riddick hadn't ever asked her to do something she wouldn't do… if there were a reasonable explanation.

He was going to put you in cryo.

But he didn't.

The voice didn't reply. He didn't force her into cryo. The whole thing might have been a show for Jack's benefit. Or perhaps he realized he shouldn't take such personal chances with two other people dependant on him. Or maybe he was finally over treating her as if she might break. Whatever the reason, he hadn't forced her.

All the secrets he keeps, but now all the sudden you finally trust him?

He trusted me.

The derisive voice had no defense against that. He had treated her like an equal.

But he didn't really need you, did he.

Zemma wondered tiredly if everyone had a voice in their head that argued with them incessantly.

She finally caught up to Riddick. The hatch between the two ships was still unopened.

"Problem?" She asked him.

"Atmospheres aren't equalized yet. But it's Don, all right. Said they found something on the lab ship I should know about. Didn't elaborate." He looked stern rather than curious, as if anything that might possibly relate to him on the breeder ship was, by definition, repugnant.

Zemma, on the other hand, was very interested. She had debated with herself about the breeder ship many times. Should she go there; should she see what they had done to the women and children she had grown up with? Should she see the fate she had escaped? Riddick's urgency to leave had let her avoid all of that.

But what could have been found that related to Riddick? He had been left, strangled, on Earth. His mother had to have been an escapee. It was most likely even she never knew his genetic father, that she had been artificially inseminated like so many others. How she escaped was a mystery; how she escaped so far an even greater one. Doubtful either question could be answered on that sinister ship.

Zemma took a deep breath, didn't feel so much like she was suffocating, and hoped the atmospheres would equalize soon. The doors could not be forced. She waited.

…

Something woke Jack, but she knew she couldn't really be awake, not in cryo. On the other hand, how could she remember she was still in cryo? She couldn't open her eyes, or even take a deep breath, so she must still be in the tube. Conscious but not awake, still captive to the imposed trance state. She couldn't even swear.

The thought, like a command, took her back into her memories, back to the dreaming that wasn't.

Her benefactress. The Bitch.

Jack had thought, at first, that the woman who saved her was so beautiful it was painful. Later she would see those features differently. In her forced stupor, both faces hovered in the same place, both feelings occupied her simultaneously: Beauty and pain; savior and enemy. It made Jack's stomach roil with irresolution. The child who had reached out to a powerful woman still wanted to replace the mother figure in her life.

"Come, Hija." A melodious voice spoke; a soft pale hand stroked child-Jack's tear stained cheek. A perfect smile of dark skin, red lips and astoundingly white teeth. Dark, caring eyes looked upon Jack with perfect understanding.

Hypatia.

"Come, child."

Jack, who wasn't yet Jack, had been hiding in her hole for days. She had been too afraid to follow her mother's directions to get off planet. She'd run out of food… what? Two days ago?

"I'll take care of you…"

Jack had reacted to that singular idea. She could never stop reacting to it. But it would always seem to betray her; her liberator would always seem to abandon her to her fate.

Nightmares of that fate engulfed her.

…

The hatch in the ceiling finally clanged open, a ladder dropping a moment later from the port connection. Booted feet, then a familiar uniform, finally the grim face of a man Zemma wasn't sure was a friend, or a barely tolerant acquaintance.

Still, she was glad to see him. Don was at least a recognizable face in a new, unfamiliar, universe. She smiled genuinely at him. He nodded back.

"Lady Zemma," his gruff voice softened, where his face did not, at her smile.

That phrase threw her, and might always make her a little uncomfortable. Don's eyebrow shot up and a smirk crossed his lips. She hadn't covered her reaction; she had become lax with her armor. Don was never going to stop using it as long as he could make her visibly react.

The more I know him, the more he seems like Riddick as an old man.

Riddick and Don stared at each other as colleagues, nodding slightly as if both conceded the other's equality. Zemma suspected these two actually LIKED each other. But this was all the greeting they would afford, no matter howpleased they might be.

"What's so important you'd leave your crusade to get home?" Riddick's voice was dry with sardonic humor.

"What's so important you hide from Terrans?" Don countered.

Riddick laughed. "Don't you know I'm an escaped convict?"

"They send the military after criminals now?" Don was frankly disbelieving.

"Depends on the class of criminal." Riddick smirked, his basso voice amused and a little arrogant. "You hungry enough for rations?"

"No one's ever hungry enough for rations. But I could eat."

Zemma snorted in agreement and led the way to their tiny kitchen. She wanted to ask about Nor and Jaron, but felt perhaps with such important news it should wait for later.

Zemma sat with the men but didn't eat again.

Don spoke mildly of the resistance they encountered on the support ships. Mostly guards, the personnel had been willing to give up their imposed Necromonger heritage. Jaron had invited them to join the Furyans in re-settling Furya. Most seemed satisfied with that.

The lab ship had been the only exception. Both guards and scientists had put up an opposition. There were heavy casualties on both sides, and the scientists thought they were hurting the Furyans by destroying their own experiments. Most of themthe Furyans were happy to see go.

Zemma wasn't happy to hear about her people dying. "How many?"

"Less than we lost when we crashed the armada."

"What?"

"You didn't think we could do that with just computer control, did you Zemma?" Don eyed Zemma speculatively. "You knew we had to send troops to hold the bridge to make that happen?"

Zemma blinked. She should have thought of it. She knew how the Basilica worked. She just didn't want to know Furyans died the same horrible death as the Mongers. She kept her face still. "How many?"

"Doesn't matter. They were all volunteers. We had to turn away more than we needed to accomplish the job. We wont forget them."

Zemma digested that. Death meant change. Did all change mean death?

Don quit looking at her when Zemma didn't offer any outward reaction. "There was one experiment they didn't destroy, an old one. One we thought you should know about."

Riddick was still looking at Zemma as he told Don to go on.

"There was a man in stasis. He's been there a long time, since the invasion of Fury. He looks exactly like you." Don looked at Riddick. "Exactly."

"Like a genetic copy?"

Don shook his head at Zemma. "This tube has been sitting for over thirty years." Don looked back to Riddick, staring hard. "You would have to be the clone."

Riddick took the news better than Don would have expected. But Zemma, with more experience reading the man, knew he wasn't happy.

"You came all this way for nothing." Riddick told him. "Now you're stuck with us, and real problems."

Don never stopped looking bad-tempered. He didn't look surprised at Riddick's reaction, or statement either. "Doesn't sound boring," he said dryly.

"Those… Terrans," he used Don's word, making Zemma grind her teeth a little. "They either planted a viral weapon on that planet, or were sent to clean it up."

"And this relates to you how, exactly?"

"I used to be a part of the group that created it. I was once sent to destroy the delivery system. I refused that order, went AWOL, and became a hunted man."

"Why didn't you destroy it?"

"Because it was a kid."

That was met by silence.

Zemma's mind leapt ahead. Jack!

"How was it you were sent to destroy it? Didn't they have it, if they created it?"

"Another member of our group was sent to deliver it." Riddick paused. "She never arrived. Disappeared. I was sent to find her, 10 years later."

"And you did?"

"Yes."

"And she had the child with her?"

"The kid was her daughter. They didn't tell her, but they implanted her."

"How did she find out?"

"Someone tipped her off, she went AWOL too. But she told me something else." Riddick paused again, and Zemma wondered how much they weren't hearing. "She said there were two mules; one with the delivery system, the other carried the antidote… another kid."

"But if this child was dangerous, why would you leave it alive?"

"She was just a kid!" Riddick's voice raised a bit. "And the courier didn't know which one she carried. She thought she had the antidote."

"Would they send you to kill the antidote?"

"More likely to send me to do that, than to kill the delivery system."

This got raised eyebrows.

"So you think they recovered the…" Don paused as if remembering he was talking about a child. "The kid who can spread the plague?"

"Or they found another way."

…

Zemma never voiced her thought that Jack was the child Riddick refused to kill. She had to wonder though, was Jack the supposed to be the carrier of the plague? Or it's antidote? And did Riddick know which?

Did he care?

They didn't release Jack from her cocoon, but settled Don in one of the cabins. Zemma followed Riddick mutely back to the cabin they were supposed to share. She had a lot of questions but thought the look on Riddick's face meant she wouldn't get any answers. That was ok for now, she was tired from a long day of stress. She'd lost track of where she should be in personal time but decided sleep would come at any rate.


	11. Backwards Glance

**11. Backwards Glance**

Riddick wanted some time alone to think. Zemma followed him to the captain's cabin but didn't say a word when he threw himself into the one overstuffed chair. She dragged her fingertips lightly along his arm as she passed him and lay down on the bed. Good enough.

He liked that she wasn't overly chatty. When she spoke it was because she had something to say, not because she needed to fill the air. And she didn't demand constant verbal reinforcement. Sometimes just a look was enough.

Jack, on the other hand, never seemed to shut up when she was a kid and wasn't much better now. She still seemed like a kid to him with her constant smart-ass talk. He was never going to hear the end of it for leaving her in cryo so long.

Riddick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Zemma moved on the bed, turning her head to look at him. He could see the shine of her eyes, invisible to anyone without the lenses, for a moment before she settled back again. She was waiting for him.

'I waited over a decade for you…'

He hadn't thought about her age until she said that to him. She'd seemed so young when he first saw her; as Min she had been successfully playing the part of an addled child-woman. When he broke her protective covering off there was still such an emotionally young woman hiding inside that he hadn't thought of her as his own age. Let alone a year older than him. But she'd actually been conceived and born on Fury.

He'd been conceived in a test tube, apparently. If you could call being cloned the same thing as a natural creation of life. Unnatural was how he'd felt his whole life; a misplaced experiment? That seemed to sum up the whole of his perception of himself in the universe.

Until he met Zemma. Not Min, but Zemma. Min was the mask; Zemma was a person who never evidenced fear of him, never stared at his mutant eyes in either disgust or fascination. Never shied away from the animal in him. Never falsified her intent to use him for her own aims and didn't balk at being used for his.

'You don't have to say it… just make me feel it.'

Other women had been as to the point about wanting his body; none with the total innocence, few with the complete abandon, as she had. Would she still want a mere copy of another man?

'Sister, they don't know what to do with just one of me.'

Were there others out there, not just like him, but others that were _exactly_ like him?

For a little while, on the Basilica, Riddick hadn't felt alone in the universe. But he was wrong to tell Zemma that she was no more Furyan than him. He wasn't Furyan at all. He was a clone of a Furyan. A product. Like Jack.

Jack might think she knew her origins, but Riddick knew better. Riddick had done some digging of his own. He knew she was a clone: genetically engineered, someone's experiment. Which part, which half of the whole ill begotten conspiracy, he didn't know for sure. Carmen had insisted she carried the biological antidote and he couldn't fault her logic: they, or They, would want the weapon back unharmed. His mission to kill Carmen's daughter seemed proof that that child was not the threat.

But there was another, still out there, who was.

Of course, he could be wrong, completely wrong. That's why he was taking no chances with Jack. She might not be the one Carmen gave birth to… she might be the one who was meant to carry the plague. He didn't want her exposed to it just to find out.

Zemma's slow, regular breathing quickened and a groan escaped her. She'd fallen asleep and was starting to have another bad dream.

"Mommy…." A tiny voice, younger and more fragile than the mask he knew as Min. "Why are they falling?"

Riddick suspected he knew what Zemma was dreaming about. She had told him that some Furyan women, devastated at the loss of their children, sometimes at their own hand, had thrown themselves from the highest point in the breeder ship. But she could remember that before, why was it tormenting her now? And why did it seem to be triggered from going outside?

Zemma was softly crying in her sleep. Riddick stood and approached the bed, intent on shaking her awake or maybe comforting her in her sleep. Before he moved more than a step in her direction the crying stopped.

"Yes, I see it."

He waited.

"It's beautiful." The dream child sighed.

Zemma quieted for just a moment before the fast paced breathing started again. "Mother?"

An older voice? An older Zemma being remembered?

"No!" Soft anguish, but no tears. "I'm sorry, Mama."

At least, like 'Mommy', he thought it must be 'Mama'. The translator Don had rigged up for him to learn Furyan did not cover the normal verbal shorthand a native speaker picks up. Don had been teaching him some of the more common slang terms. This seemed to be the foreshortened version, a child's version, of the word 'mother'.

Zemma's breathing sped up again. As Riddick took the few short steps to the bed she sat bolt upright. He didn't see the shine that meant her lenses were up so wasn't sure if she was awake.

"Zemma?" He asked quietly. "You with me?"

She was still panting a little, as if trying to catch her breath. "What?"

"You awake?"

"Yes?" Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"Bad dreams?" He sat on the edge of the bed and let his hand wander up and down her leg over her cargo pants.

Should make her buy some real clothes, next stop we make.

He saw her lenses twitch up. "You were having bad dreams… about your mother?"

"Oh." She pulled her legs up, away from his touch, and wrapped her arms around them, her chin on her knees. "I killed her," she whispered. "Did I tell you that?"

"No." He decided not to take it personal that she had pulled away from him. When he reached out again she didn't flinch. When he pulled her towards him she didn't resist. He wiped her face with the palm of his hand.

"I was crying again?" She sounded a little disgusted with herself. "I never cried this much before I met you," slightly sullen and a little mystified.

He took it as a compliment though. He knew she had the self-control to not cry at all. But like her first hesitant smiles, and attempts to banter back when he teased her, it showed her trust in him.

That trust had made him a little uncomfortable at first; like her drunken admission that she wanted to bed him. The fact that she was a virgin should have been obvious once he understood that the Purifier was her father, not her lover. She had proved herself calm and mature in so many ways that until she admitted that she wanted to seduce him, and didn't know how, he hadn't fully realized she was still just a girl living in a no man's land.

He hadn't wanted a relationship. Had so many times in the past decided he could not and should not have one. He seldom used the same lover twice. Dana had been the only 'sister' whom he had returned to regularly. She hadn't wanted to use his manhood at all, but taught him to use the rest of his body, his hands and his mouth, and had never touched him there at all. His brothers had joked that his reputation had brought even a dyke to his bed, and pestered him for his secret.

He'd thought of Dana, after Zemma's almost desperate plea to become a woman with him. He'd thought he might have to be cruel afterwards, to curb any pubescent fantasies about their relationship. He'd thought he could be the cool and collected teacher to Zemma that Dana had been to him.

But there had been no awkwardness, no gushing romanticism. She'd kissed him lightly and thanked him sweetly. Then flown from his bed without a backward glance. And into the arms of another man.

She'd been so devastated at the carnage in her suite, he could see that familiar look, the one most newbies had the first time they killed. Yet she stayed focused, and wouldn't back down from him. He'd been impressed. Pleased, even.

Then she cried out her regrets to one animal for her fascination of another animal. She let a complete stranger comfort her, and whisk her away. Without a backward glance.

He didn't believe Jaron had designs on Zemma. Jaron spoke as if he knew Riddick and Zemma were lovers that needed protecting from the designs of their common enemy. Riddick hadn't tried to change his mind about the misconception. He didn't question himself about why.

She avoided him completely and he should have been relieved. Jaron's plan meant Zemma would understand where their relationship stood. He should have been relieved…

In the Now, Zemma wrapped her arms around his waist, her head on his lap and against his stomach; perhaps dozing again, or perhaps just taking quiet comfort in him. He held her.

He thought about The Party. He thought about The Dress.

She looked so fucking beautiful in it. It caught every bit of the obscured lights in the room and sparkled almost too brightly. He'd wanted to say something…

When he'd teased her, through Jaron, she'd made such a face he wanted to laugh. It made him realize how much he enjoyed teasing her, how much he liked to laugh, just lately.

But he hadn't felt like laughing when she danced with Jaron. Jaron had kissed her on the forehead and she'd tipped her face into his chest. It was fatherly, certainly. She emoted such trust in Jaron, and when she turned those trusting eyes towards him on the throne, towards those stupid fucking gifts…

He'd had to walk away, without a backward glance. He didn't try to examine his feelings.

When he'd spotted her later, hiding behind the statuary and looking down the long hall to the Lord Marshal's door where the first of the painted ladies stood begging to be admitted… he'd turned away, without a backward glance.

He tried not to have any feelings to examine. But the Lady was not enough distraction.

When he'd come to Jaron's door that night he felt foolish and a little drunk. Jaron had smiled when he admitted Riddick into the apartment, turned without speaking and headed for an inner door. He'd stopped, waved Riddick to another door, and disappeared into his own room.

Riddick hadn't realized the suite had two rooms.

He'd gone to her door, looked at her sleeping and debated with himself.

'Everyone close to me dies.'

The dress was pooled on the floor near the closet. The wrapping of the box at the foot of her bed, beside her bed was her cloak. In her sleep, her slack hand still held the little cat he'd had made to replace the one she'd 'lost.'

'…My friend, my only friend, I am sorry I abandon you when you needed me most. I put you in this danger and let my fascination for one who does not need me hurt you. Please forgive me. Please don't die…'

When she'd nearly lost Nor she'd cried out those regrets for getting involved with him.

'…My friend, my only friend…'

'Everyone close to me dies.'

'…My fascination for one who does not need me…'

No, he didn't need anyone.

But he wanted her.

He still wanted her. And she still accepted him, as she did that night, without comment, without guilt or anger, without reservation. Even with a little humor.

When he had returned to her another night, determined to end it…

'Everyone close to me dies.'

He'd been determined to show her he really was just an animal, not something to be in love with, but she hadn't reacted as he expected. There was no fear, no anger; she urged him on and matched attitude, responded to his force with passion.

When she caught him with the Lady and punched him in the nose he thought it was at last over, she wouldn't want to see him again. He didn't need anyone. He could stop wanting her… acceptance. But an hour later she was back, and begging him to stay, to give her more time.

Then she made him laugh.

And damn it, he was getting to like that. He didn't need it, but he wanted it.

He still wanted it.

Zemma was snoring lightly against his chest, now. It had been a very long day, with so many hours playing tag with Don through the system. She's never pestered him about the things he promised to tell her; she just watched him pilot and waited.

'I waited over a decade for you.'

There was a little more she'd have to wait for.

But not his promise, she wouldn't have to wait for that. He pulled her up and kissed her awake.

"Mmm?" She questioned him sleepily, her hands come up behind his head, stroking lightly.

"I need you," he whispered.


	12. Need

**12. Need**

Riddick woke Zemma and pulled her to her feet. Heslowly unzippedher daily grays, and pulled the top down beyond her shoulders, pinning her arms. He held her wrists against her side and took his time kissing her neck and shoulders. Zemma squirmed to free her hands and reach for him.

"Patience…" He whispered against her ear.

Zemma felt her insides melt and she leaned into him. She could feel him straining against his pants so she twisted a little to rub against him.

"Uh huh." He told her, and held her back away from him just a bit, not relinquishing his grip on her wrists or his lips on her skin.

Zemma just moaned and leaned her head against his, kissing where she could reach.

Riddick reached for Zemma's bra, tickling her back as he went, and unhooked it, but did not free her from it, or her clothes yet. His hand came around and reached up under the silky material where he squeezed lightly.

Zemma groaned in frustration again.

Riddick laughed softly against her neck, but he had freed one hand, so Zemma reached for his shirt. He let her pull it up and stroke his abdomen with her fingertips, but she couldn't reach higher, trapped by her own clothes.

"Let me out of these," she whispered.

"Mmmm. No." She could feel his smile against her neck.

"You are a control freak, have I mentioned that?"

"Once or twice. And you are in too much of a hurry."

Zemma loved the feel of his low voice against her skin and his teeth brushing lightly as he spoke or nipped at her. She let her fingernails dig into his muscles a bit, and felt them contract in reaction. Riddick held her one hand tighter still, and with his other squeezed her tit, closer to where she wanted. Zemma pushed against his hand.

"Mmm, here?" He asked her, teasingly.

"Yes, oh yes." Zemma breathed out, exasperated.

"Say, 'please,'" he grumbled. Zemma could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

Was he teasing her? Zemma pulled back a little to look curiously at his face. He was smirking a little, but the tilt of his eyebrows told her he was serious too. "And what if I say 'no,' instead?" She asked him archly.

"Then I won't do this…" He stroked her lightly, then stopped suddenly. Zemma groaned and put her head against his chest. She dug her fingernails into his skin.

"You are evil, have I mentioned THAT?"

"Mmm hmmm." Riddick nodded slightly, but did not resume his attentions, or let her go. "I think you called me a 'colossal prick'."

Zemma laughed. "Among other things."

"So I think I deserve a little 'please' now and then." He spoke against her neck again and Zemma shivered.

She wanted to resist, but didn't need to test his strength to know she couldn't go anywhere until he decided to let her go. She settled on to trying to change his mind instead. She found his nipple through his shirt with her mouth, and stroked lightly at his skin with her free hand. He let her go on for a few minutes, and even hummed pleasantly in her ear, before pulling her away.

"Well?" Riddick spoke directly in Zemma's ear. "What's it gonna be?"

Zemma growled, but gave in. "Please," she said shortly.

Riddick resumed his ministrations. "Now say it like you want to convince me," he growled back.

Zemma said something in Furyan.

"That wasn't 'please,'" he said, and pinched her a little harder than she expected. She sucked in her breath.

"Why are you being so mean to me?" Zemma tried to pout a little, but had to catch her breath as he teased her with his hand on her breast, and his mouth on her neck.

"Mean?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you liked this…"

And she did like _that_. Zemma groaned, and leaned into him again.

"Please," she whispered, giving in to the moment.

Riddick let go of her, long enough to catch her face in both his hands. He looked at her eyes, so like his own, and she melted inside again. He kissed her slowly, still looking at her. Zemma wondered why she bothered to resist him.

When he let her breathe she whispered, "please," again, and wiggled out of her clothes.

"That's better," he smiled at her.

Riddick stopped holding her long enough to peel off his shirt and pants. They stood nearly naked together, touching each other lightly. When he hooked a finger in her panties Zemma squirmed to get out of them, and pushed his under shorts down as well.

Riddick pulled her onto the bed but didn't lay her down. Kneeling, they faced each other, still touching and teasing with their hands. He was hard against her stomach, when she reached for it he grabbed her hands.

"Not yet."

Zemma grumbled, causing him to laugh again. She loved that laugh, and couldn't help smiling in return.

He pulled her hands together over her head and held them in just one of his larger ones. "Drop your lenses," he told her.

Zemma narrowed her eyes at him. Now what? She debated briefly.

His one hand not holding hers rested lightly on her neck and cheek as he waited patiently for her to decide. Zemma quirked her mouth, but did drop her lenses, finally. Now she was in actual darkness; she couldn't see… only feel him touching her. She tried to get out of his grip, to feel him back, but he pulled her hands down behind her neck and held them there.

His hand left her cheek. She felt nails drawing up the back of her thigh and nearly cried out from surprise. She sucked in her breath instead. It wasn't painful. But the light touch tracing over those spots immediately following was delightfully heightened by the sting.

Zemma felt Riddick's lips hovering near her own, felt his quiet chuckle near her mouth. She tried to lean forward to capture his mouth in a kiss but he held her still. Then she knew his face was no longer there as he took a nipple in his mouth. A sigh escaped her.

There was another of the lightest of touches to the back of her thigh that sent chills straight into her. Light scratches up her back made her arch against his mouth. She ground her hips against him.

Riddick pulled away a bit, Zemma felt his hand on her neck and cheek again. "Don't move," he told her. His voice was not requesting but commanding.

Zemma hummed in return.

"I mean it," he warned her.

What was he gonna do if she didn't?

He might stop! The voice in the back of her head cried out.

Zemma smiled to herself.

Riddick's thumb played lightly along her lips. His face came very near to hers. "Don't move," he whispered, and this time his voice held promises. Zemma shivered and closed her eyes.

When he released her hands she locked her fingers together and kept them behind her head. Both of his hands held her face for a moment before tracing down her neck, and chest, stopping to rub there with his palms.

Zemma groaned and leaned into him.

"Don't move," he whispered.

But Zemma had to wiggle. She was surprised by more scratches from her ass, up her back, it actually hurt for just a moment. But then his hands were soothing away the sting and his mouth was on her neck, nibbling near her jaw line. She felt his hands move up her back and catch in her hair just above her hands. He pulled her head back a little, with his lips and tongue and teeth he made his way to her ear. His body was pressed close to hers.

"Be good," he spoke softly, directly into her ear.

Zemma felt goose bumps break out all over her body. She caught her breath. For one moment she wanted nothing other than to please him; just as long as he didn't stop!

"Yes," she whispered back, not trusting her voice not to break.

"Good," He whispered in her ear again, his hands still in her hair and his body rubbing slightly against her.

She tried to pull away to look at him but he held her firmly by her hair, her head turned up and her neck exposed to him. He shook her head slightly and bit at her neck. She stopped, only slightly annoyed, as his teeth felt wonderful.

"Good girl," he purred in her ear.

Zemma didn't laugh out loud, but she was amused by this game. Still, he rewarded her and that was worth it; with one hand still holding her head back, the other caught her tit for his mouth. She groaned and wondered briefly if she would get to reverse their roles at some point. Keeping her hands off him was the hardest part, requiring more self control than she had ever needed to express in their love making before.

'Love making,' now, is it?

She didn't bother to think of a response to the voice.

Riddick's hand left her breast and traveled slowly down, tickling a bit. She expected more scratches but instead he reached under her, his fingers reaching up. Zemma gasped as he slid his fingers into her there. She swayed a bit and he let go of her hair to pull her against him. He let go of her nipple and pressed his forehead against hers before kissing her.

He moaned into her mouth and she felt him twitch against her. "Oh, God," he whispered as his fingers explored her.

Zemma began shaking all over. "Take me," her voice was begging this time.

Still face to face, he chortled, "You didn't say 'please.'" He was panting too.

Zemma's hands came apart, she threw her arms around his neck and clutched at him as her head came forward against him; she bit him on the chest. She whispered a word rather hoarsely against his skin.

"Damn it, that means 'please.' You colossal prick." She said, fiercely.

Riddick laughed as he tipped her sideways onto the bed. "Mmm. Yes, Ma'am," he said huskily, still amused.

Zemma was beyond giggling, as he took her slowly.


	13. Pride And Panic

**13. Pride and Panic**

Jack opened her eyes to a well-rested looking Riddick, who smelled like sex.

Zemma was not in the room puking her greenhorn guts up from cryo-sickness.

"Oh my god! You pig!" Jack tried to shout as she pushed Riddick away with two slightly unsteady hands, but managed only a loud croak. "How long did you leave me in here so you two could…"

"Jack…" Riddick's voice sounded tired; tired of her. A sharp pain, that had nothing to do with cryo-sickness, lanced through her chest. Jealousy gagged her when sense could not.

Jack had always prided herself on living smart and mean. Well, always since meeting Riddick. She'd mapped out all the rules she imagined he lived by, survived by, and made them her own. Only he seemed to be such a rule breaker that even his own weren't immune.

A fucking girlfriend? Most wanted man in the universe, and he cant keep his pants on for two straight hours around her.

"I ran a 36 hour viral scan on you." He tipped his head a little in that way that always seemed to say, 'You and I both know; why do we have to say it out loud?'

Jack looked into the farthest corner of the room. "Well?" She finally asked, irritably.

"You're clean, or I wouldn't have let you out." Riddick's voice had zero inflection to Jack's ear. But she took the unspoken meaning just the same: 'If you'd gotten infected; if you were The Mary, the Typhoid-Mary... Kid, you'd never have gotten out of there.'

Jack knew Riddick knew -something- about her past.

Five years ago, on a ship stolen from some psycho clay-face mercenaries, after what had seemed like weeks of exhaustion and hunger (but had really only been days), Riddick turned to her in the dark and said, 'Tell me a story.'

It had been a way to shut her up from her childish angst about what the future might hold for them, together. She'd so desperately needed reassurances that Riddick wouldn't leave her; he'd rescued her, but her track record wasn't good with would-be/could-be heroes.

Hypatia had rescued Jack after the murder of her mother -back before she was Jack, back when she was still Audrey.

'I'll take care of you,' had been words irresistible to an orphaned nine-year-old girl.

Months later, Jack would escape her so-called savior, so called benefactress, and fall right into the hands of another, much worse, rescuer. For the next three years Jack, who still wasn't Jack yet, would bounce from one self-proclaimed champion to another, getting more street wise, and unconsciously bitter.

Shazza, then Fry, had seemed so close to fulfilling her need…

Then Riddick…

Running through the rain and alien blood, one glance at Carolyn's small hand clasped in Riddick's huge one had sent family fantasies spiraling out of control in Jack's head...

Mother. Father. Safe. Finally.

Jack didn't thinkabout how she felt when Riddick returned without Carolyn Fry. Shock upon shock had finally, simply, blanked her mind for a few sanity saving minutes. Riddick's control and no-nonsense attitude (Zemma could have told her it was the balm of the Now) cemented Jack's fixation on him. When he held her hand in the tiny cockpit, and told her the old Riddick was dead 'back on that planet somewhere', she knew she would love him forever, do anything for him, sacrifice all… for him.

She was old enough to recognize the change from criminal to man. She was old enough to fall in love with it, with him.

She was not old enough to hold him, keep him, make him love her back. And like all the rest, he was gone, and she was alone.

Imam was never enough to hold her, not enough protection, not enough peace. He'd talked and talked to her, of love and sacrifice, but he still only talked to her as a child. The way Riddick wanted to talk to her. The way his so-called woman tried to talk to her. Jack the child had died somewhere on that planet.

'Tell me a story,' he'd said.

She understood and forgave Riddick for seeing her as a child, back then. Looking like a young boy had been only slightly safer than looking like a young girl.

She told him the only story she knew by heart, from a childhood that lacked faerie godmothers but not the monsters.

"You are about to hear, said Aramis, an account which few could now give; for it refers to a secret which they buried with their dead...." She recited the beginning of 'The Man in the Iron Mask', an old Earth classic, and watched his face change slowly, and subtly. She'd thought, at the time, in the last remnants of her child's heart, that he was truly seeing her for the first time; that her eloquence was speaking to his heart and that he could see the woman she would be if he would just wait a little while… for her.

It was the last of her childish fantasies -and he broke the last piece of her childhood heart when he left her.

But for a little while, she imagined he saw her soul, who she really was, hiding inside the body of a child; saw the passion of the adult that was to come. She thought her love of him must blaze so strongly that it was illuminating the dark places in his heart.

Stupid. Fucking stupid.

When she was done, and her throat was sore from talking, and she couldn't stop hoping that he would take her in his arms and say, 'I didn't know that soul existed in you. I love you.' He'd only asked, "Your mother was murdered, right? And she owned that book?"

Jack had nodded numbly. How could he have known that, unless he had really seen into her heart of hearts? And if so, how could he sit there so unmoved? Couldn't he see that she…?

"Go to sleep, kid." He walked away.

"Riddick!" She called out, as desperately as she had on the planet, if quieter.

He'd turned, a strange look on his face. "You tell a good story, kid. But you should maybe keep that one to yourself." He turned and headed back to the small bridge, leaving her in the dark, alone.

An inkling of understanding began to bloom in the back of her mind.

Riddick KNEW.

He KNEW.

How could it be?

He KNEW!

She'd been sure of it then. His words to her now only confirmed it. He knew. She was the biggest payday in the universe, to the right people, to the right governments. She was either the most powerful weapon in any galaxy, or it's only antidote.

She didn't know which. She stared at Riddick and wondered if he did. And what he'd do about it. Once upon a time, she'd trusted him completely, loved him completely. But as they stood in the med-lab of the 'Monger frigate, understanding unspoken between them, Jack felt afraid.

Unresolved, childish anger and jealousy had driven her to seek out, and push, any button of his she could. He'd betrayed her by leaving her. She'd wanted to punish him. He'd betrayed the memory of Carolyn Fry with that waspy woman who could never hold a candle to the strong, brave woman, who had replaced the image of Jack's mother for a few desperate minutes in Jack's mind. She'd wanted to punish Zemma.

Now she was afraid she'd miscalculated horribly. Riddick only looked at her, completely unreadable. He knew her secret, and he was a heartless criminal who never loved her. And she couldn't stop pissing him off. She had to get the hell off this boat and get on with her life, first chance. She never should have trusted him.

"Is it breakfast, lunch or dinner time?" She quipped easily, a big fake smile on her face. "I'm starved and the least you can do is buy me dinner."

A slow, hesitant half smile engaged Riddick's wary face. "You're the only person I know who can come out of cryo hungry." He shook his head in mock disbelief.

Jack kept her fear in better check than her anger. Though like all her emotions, it consumed her completely. She was simply better at hiding this one.

Of course, none of the other three people on board would have agreed with her personal assessment of that.

Riddick, seeing Jack's sudden and unprovoked fear of him, was finally curious about what was driving the girl (he thought) he once refused to kill, and once refused to let die.


	14. Behind the Big Blind

**14. Behind the Big Blind**

Zemma sipped the lukewarm tea left at her bedside, and peered at the scrap of paper left on Riddick's pillow for her. She quietly cursed how truly clever the man was, to have somehow learned a language, her native tongue, in five months time.

Except, she had never learned to read or write it. She could read and type Standard just fine. She'd had little reason to print much by hand. And no opportunity to read Furyan at all. She glared at the scrap; torn from some printout, and wondered where he'd even found a pen.

There's been no paper, no pens, and no books on the breeder ship. Her father had forbidden anything too obviously Furyan in their suite. Everything she'd learned of Fury from him had been spoken… until he seemed to give up talking altogether.

Her mother had taught her to speak both Furyan and Standard. Later, her father had taught her to read and print her letters. Typing of course came almost naturally with practice, no set lessons but lots of time.

Staring at the note, Zemma realized she couldn't be sure she was even holding it right side up. She groaned in frustration, and pounded her head into the wall behind her.

Was it a love note? She snorted. Okay, a command? Why not just wake her up and tell her anything important? Was it a reminder of something? She was so flustered by the very existence of the message that she couldn't recall anything pertinent.

Damn it.

So fucking clever. Thought he'd amuse himself, and tease her with a little demonstration of what he claimed he really didn't know -and just how long had he not really know it, anyway? That's all it could be, some teasing comment that would make her grind her teeth and have him laughing at her.

Something like 'I win,' or 'keep poised.'

She spelled out those words on her fingers. Without any other tool, her mother had taught her fingerspelling. She'd told Zemma she couldn't know the language properly if she couldn't spell the words. They'd sometimes traced letters on the wall, but using their hands had been easy and fun for little Zemma, more like a game than actual learning.

Math she had learned to do in her head, until her father had rescued her and began her education anew on a computer.

Nevertheless, her mother had done well by her, early on. Teaching her daughter had been an excellent distraction for them both. To Zemma, the secret language she shared with her mother, which could be spoken across a noisy room without notice, was a delightful game.

Later, it was all but forgotten, as she had access to so much more.

All, but… not forgotten. Zemma ran the alphabet through with one hand, then the other. She counted the letters on the note, and tried to remember the ones she'd traced with her mother's help on anything: ash on the floor, water spilled on the table.

It wasn't enough. Her brilliant and beloved mother, a noted child psychologist before Zemma was born, before the 'Mongers came, had not been able to teach her daughter to read and write in her own language. Her father had been unwilling to.

Jaron must have given Riddick a reader. Zemma thought maybe if she could find where he'd hidden it…

But she wasn't to have that much time. The door opened, admitting a be-goggled Riddick.

"Lights, dim."

Zemma quickly covered her annoyance with a happy smile. Not quickly enough, as Riddick did a double take.

"You're still in bed?"

Zemma slid further down under the covers and stretched languidly. "Mmm hmm," she answered contentedly.

"Well, at least that means you didn't use up all the hot water." He stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots, watching her without seeming to.

"There's a water shower in this cabin?" Zemma sat up; elated with the news, and hoping the subject of the note could be avoided, as she slipped it surreptitiously under the covers.

Riddick's brows came together a fraction, as he stopped unbuckling his pants to look more pointedly at Zemma.

Hyper-fucking-sensitive, AND too fucking smart.

She smiled lasciviously at him. "Oh! Don't stop," she teased.

Riddick's face barely changed, though none of his expressions were really pronounced, except anger and amusement. This one was slightly predatory, slightly smug, and entirely artificial, for her benefit.

She'd overplayed her hand and he was looking for the bluff with one of his own.

"Didn't you get my note?" He asked innocently, as he crossed the room to her. Of course, he could see it was not where he'd left it.

Zemma felt like she was 'behind the big blind': she had a large, forced bet on the table and no choice but to play the cards dealt her. She simply did not want to fold, and admit to him that she couldn't read or write her own language.

He stung your pride with that comment that you're no more Furyan than he is… And now he's just a little bit more.

Zemma sat up, letting the covers drop into her lap, as she reached for his beltline.

Riddick took her wrist in one hand, and as he straddled her legs with his own, took her face in his other hand. He kissed her lips, and asked innocently, "Didn't you read my note?" He was waiting for the game to resume, perhaps so he could say, 'That's Furyan? But I don't know Furyan.' He'd wanted to tease her this morning. He couldn't know why she was avoiding it, just that she was.

"Note?" Zemma asked.

Riddick laid her back against the pillows, reaching for her exposed breast and kissing her jaw line.

"Mmm hmm."

His other hand reached under the covers and unerringly retrieved the crumpled paper.

"This note."

He held it between his second and third fingers, in the space between their faces, a small grin of satisfaction on his lips.

Zemma snatched it, showing real speed, crumpled it in her palm and moved to throw it away. But while she had trained up from merely quick to actually fast, her movements would have seemed a blur to an outside observer, Riddick was still faster. He caught it midair, and sat up.

Zemma tried one last time to distract him. She ran her fingernails across his abdomen, enjoying the feel of his muscles tightening under her touch.

"Funny," he mused. Outwardly he was ignoring her, but as he was straddling her, she knew she had at least some of his attention elsewhere.

"I would've bet," he went on, pretending not to notice her hand as it traced down his body to…

"You would've flown to that shower, without your feet touching the deck… If, you'd read my note." He tipped his head a little to the side, in that maddening 'I can see right through you' posture he took sometimes when he was trying very hard to taunt her.

Zemma didn't look him in the eye. Only shrugged a shoulder and reached for his naked chest with her other hand.

Pride, Zem, just let it go and tell him.

I'll never hear the end of it.

Stupid, useless pride.

"For a woman who spent her whole life in space, you use more hot water than any two women I've ever known." He was drawing out the game; confident he'd get an answer to this little riddle, and in no hurry.

Zemma glanced up at him innocently. "What was that? My mind was somewhere else…" Her hands left no doubt where.

Riddick laughed from diaphragm to ceiling; that laugh she loved. A genuine smile, real pleasure, suffused her features as she looked up at him.

Oh, Stars! I love him so much it hurts!

Fuck pride.

Looking down, watching her reactions closely to gage how far the game could go, Riddick must have seen something that startled him. Smug and amused was replaced by a poker face, that expression Zemma had never learned to read accurately.

Zemma stopped her ministrations, sitting up a little, her fingers lightly grazing his chest.

"Riddick," she started seriously. "I…"

He interrupted her with a kiss, one hand suddenly at the back of head, pulling her closer. The other hand against her cheek, the note dropped somewhere in between. Zemma let herself melt into him. When they broke away, Riddick was staring intently into her eyes, trying to read what was going on behind them.

He thought you were going to say something else…

Something a little more frightening than just you giving up a little pride.

Zemma put both hands to either side of his face, staring back just as intently. THAT wasn't what she needed to say. She didn't think THAT needed to be said. THAT would only hurt more than her pride if it was met with the same silence Jack had received upon a similar declaration.

Zemma sighed. She felt Riddick tense against her. She had to suppress an inappropriate need to giggle at him. "I can't read," she stated simply. She released his face and tipped her into his chest, blushing furiously.

There. Said it. Pride be damned. She waited for him to chew on it, and spit out smart-ass comment number…89, 90, 91… one thousand and ninety one.

He tipped her back again, to read her. She looked back frankly.

"Your father wouldn't allow it." Statement, not a question. Now that the game was over, he'd put the pieces together with Riddick-ish speed.

Zemma pressed her lips together as she nodded slightly against his hand. "The wall scene and the figurines were the only Furyan artifacts to be found in our suite. Both had been widely popular, so not suspect."

Riddick's thumb stroked her cheek lightly, as if brushing away a tear where none had fallen. "We'll fix that," he told her simply, and seriously.


	15. No Sweet Spot

**15. No Sweet Spot**

Zemma had been enjoying her morning of shopping with Jack, up until a policeman grabbed her from behind, and Jack disappeared into the crowd…

The past two weeks had been long and stressful for Jack. Not that Zemma saw her very much, stuck in the captain's cabin with Riddick's reader, struggling to memorize words in an unfamiliar alphabet.

"You're using your hands again." Riddick would warn her over and over again as she would spell out words on her fingers, rather than read them from the screen, and Zemma would ball up her fists and try again. She felt incredibly slow and stupid.

When she would get too frustrated he would pull the reader from her grip, and kiss and taunt her back into a good mood.

"Does it turn you on that I can't do this?" She asked him, only half teasing, after one of their breaks.

"Is that what you think?" He asked slowly, as if offended, and tipped his head sideways.

She smacked his shoulder with one fist. "Sometimes... That you like it that I…need you."

He twisted around, pinning her under him again. "Do you?" He kissed each nipple and she shivered. When she didn't answer he asked again, kissing lower, tickling her ribs with his lips. "Do you?"

"Stop that," she told him, not quite wanting him to, but too stubborn to answer him; she'd already said it.

He stopped, hovering over her, looking down at her. She tried to sit up enough to bite him somewhere, causing him to laugh.

"Would you still like me if I could throw you off this bed?" She asked.

"You wouldn't be in it if you could throw me off it." He told her.

But while Zemma was merely frustrated, Jack seemed… somehow different, to Zemma. More reticent, drawn inward, and less the savage smart-ass that Zemma was actually coming to like. Sometimes she would hear Jack and Riddick talking in the galley as she approached the galley. She would stop, not to listen (she would tell herself) but to let them have their privacy.

"Relax, kid. We don't know how the chips fall yet. No sense getting hysterical."

"Whadda ya mean? And, damn it Riddick, don't call me 'kid'."

"All right, Jack… it's just, won't be no sweet spot for you; you'll never feel it. But I won't sell you out."

"Never had a doubt."

"Quit pissing Don off though. He'd probably sell you to the lowest bidder."

Zemma had withheld a chortle at that. Jack had been none to pleased to see their little family had grown by one bad-tempered uncle. She'd been downright cordial to Zemma, seemed to be holding her tongue for Riddick… but it all came out with Don. It was as if power, routed away from the main boards, was over firing on the secondaries.

But Jack only laughed. She wasn't afraid of Don, as she probably should be.

'Now, see, I got no problem killing this girl. But the Lord Marshal Riddick might not like it. Or maybe he'd just get over it?' Don had said it, and Zemma had believed it had been about her, had believed he was capable of it. She thought Jack would be better served keeping it - and the accompanying bruises Don had put on Jack's throat - in mind.

Another time, Zemma heard them talking about their destination:

"Where we goin', anyway, Riddick?"

Zemma was a little curious too, not that the information would really enlighten her.

"Little moon port I know. Earth protectorate, but no military."

"Moon, huh? Too bad yer already hooked up; I hear the whores on those moon bases work some different tricks for light gravity…"

Riddick had laughed.

Zemma, still standing quietly down the hall in the dark, had frowned. When footsteps behind her warned Don was also heading for the galley, Zemma had to move or get caught snooping. She calmed her face and walked in her natural gait. But something caught Riddick's damnably perceptive eyes, and he frowned as he looked at her.

He knows you're snooping!

No. But he might have guessed I heard that anyway.

Jack's frown was expected. But she didn't say anything nasty until Don got there. Then once again Riddick and Don stared each other down over the smirking girl before Riddick escorted Jack out, hand clamped just above her elbow…

Don never said a word. He never did. But Zemma worried what might happen if he caught the young woman in the dark of a corridor when Riddick wasn't there.

---

Riddick said the moon base was huge by comparison to some, but Zemma felt perfectly comfortable walking around in it, knowing steel walls and ceilings surrounded her. Riddick had given the girls enough creds to buy some clothes for Zemma, and any trinket that might catch Jack's eye. It was an advance on some of the cargo in their holds.

Zemma was glad to get out of the bedroom and away from the dreaded reader. Jack seemed to be glad to get away too; she actually smiled.

Their first stop had been a dress shop. But Jack had no interest, and had been no help. Looking like an insolent young man, she sprawled in a chair and counted ceiling tiles with a scowl on her face.

The help hadn't been much help either, for that matter. With cutting glances to Jack and irritation with Zemma, who didn't know the front of a dress from it's back, they'd barely held their arrogance in check for the backwards off-worlder. Still, Zemma found one she liked, and dumped creds on the counter for the clerk, who rolled her eyes, to pick out the right amount. Zemma smiled the whole time. She didn't care. It was her very first purchase, ever.

Then, bag in hand, the women cruised the main concourse, looking into each shop and stall. Zemma felt excited by even the noise of commerce, talking, laughing and conducting business; the sheer press of people.

So when two people came close up behind her, Zemma didn't panic. She was curious why Jack, who had been carrying Zemma's bag, dropped it and vanished quickly into the throng.

"Come with me, please," one said firmly in Zemma's ear as he took her arm high up above the elbow. The other took off after Jack.

Zemma's reaction was not what Jack's, and Riddick's, might have been. She hadn't experienced the school of hard knocks. So fight, or flight, wasn't drilled into her nature. She did, still, have her own effective means of dealing with a threat. She became the picture of helplessness.

She became Min once again.

"Hi!" She chirped to the grim faced man clamped onto her elbow. That got her barely a glance, and no change in the pressure being applied to her arm.

"My name's Min," she went on gamely. She couldn't play the delusional child that had driven the Mongers to distraction; she'd been seen too long walking the market without such theatrics. But, she had been grinning absently and eagerly as they shopped. It would have to be enough.

The little girl's voice caught the man's attention this time. He did a double take at Min's face. She didn't yet know who these two men were, but Jack's sudden reaction, and self opined reputation, allowed Zemma to guess they were some kind of law enforcement. She kept a blank smile on her face, and wished Jack luck getting back to Riddick.

"My name's Min."

"Oh geeze," the man rolled his eyes and looked into the crowd for his partner.

Min didn't struggle; Min had no clue she might be in trouble. "What's your name?" The soft, almost childish, voice seemed eager for a new friend (one that wouldn't hold her arm so tightly.)

"Be quiet," the man didn't yell, as if instinctively knowing his prisoner was apt to cry and make a scene.

Min's face contorted briefly as if seriously considering this order, then tried again to make a new friend. "My name's Min," she stage whispered, hardly less loud than her juvenile tone. "What's your name?"

The nature of his prisoner seemed to hit home, his hand loosened just slightly, perhaps just to re-adjust his grip, but was not so painfully tight. Zemma grinned inwardly. Min, however, continued to look vacant and contented.

"What's your…"

"Officer Deak," the man cut off her repetitive whisper, guessing it would only go on until an answer was given.

"My name's Min." The childish face seemed very pleased. "I bought a dress!" Min whispered this as if she was delighted to share a splendid secret.

The officer peered into the crowd for his partner. Min turned to peer too, before turning back a face bare of concern, and smiled again. "I bought a dress," she said smugly.

"That's nice." The man's demeanor unfocused on her, he was merely responding politely. His grip loosened a little more.

The partner returned sans Jack, and inwardly, Zemma was relieved. Outwardly, Min turned a blank look to the newcomer.

"Son of a bitch got away," the huffing, older man began.

Min frowned. "Don't say that bad word," she admonished quietly but seriously.

"Shut the fuck up," the second officer rounded on her.

Min's face distorted into fear and sadness, before quickly becoming blank again as she looked at the ground. Her entire bearing shrunk back away from the newcomer, and seemingly by accident, she turned away from him and nearly into the shoulder of the younger Officer Deak, as if seeking security there.

"Leave off," Deak said, impatiently. "She's just a feeb."

"She's a suspect in a string of shoplifting reports today." The older man picked up and opened Zemma's bag. From the corner of her eye, Zemma could see not just her dress, but a small assortment of bric-a-brac she didn't remember buying.

Jack! I am so going to…

Min turned slowly to look in the bag with wide eyes. "Oooh!" She smiled brightly. "Are those for me?" She whispered in awe.

The two officers turned to Min between them, the body language of the younger one seemed to be saying, 'See? Wha'd I tell you?' But the older one was staring hard at Min, trying to see beyond the bright smile and innocent eyes. Min looked up at him and whispered, "I bought a dress…"

"Shuddap." The older man barked in Min's face. Zemma suspected he was trying to see behind the mask. Min only blinked, a frown warred with her naïve smile. She looked away, turning sad, confused eyes to Officer Deak.

"I wanna go home," she said in a tiny voice, and leaned nearer to the younger man.

"Get your suspect under control, or I'll handcuff her." The older officer's voice was still angry, but Zemma saw his posture change slightly. He was starting to accept what his eyes were telling him. Bag in hand, he turned and lead the way through the crowd.

"Come with me," Officer Deak spoke quietly to Min.

"Are we going home?" Min sounded hopeful.

"Not yet."

"I bought a dress," she chirped, her happy smile returned.

"Jensen," Officer Deak called ahead to his partner. The older man turned with a glare. "Look at the bag, she bought that dress over at Tamily's."

"If she bought it." Jensen accented the 'if'.

"She got the bag there. Let's just stop by." Deak sounded reasonable.

Jensen nodded briefly and turned their course. Zemma, hiding deeply behind the happy and carefree Min, felt a twinge of concern. She hadn't played Min in the store. She would have to be very careful now.

Fortunately, Deak held her back by the front doors while Jensen questioned the haughty sales clerks about her time there. Zemma could hear the conversation clearly, but Min simply looked around at the abundance of bright clothing nearest her.

"Did this woman purchase a dress from you this morning?"

One of the women sniffed disdainfully. "If you mean did she try on dresses backwards and couldn't manage to count her own creds, then yes."

Zemma sighed inwardly. Min seemed engrossed in the window display.

"Was she here alone?"

"Some boy came in with her." The clerk's tone left no doubt about her opinion of that 'boy'. "She called him 'Jack'."

Zemma wondered what name Jack had chosen on the passports Don had created. Zemma had had no reason not to use her real name, which, of course, did not include Min and might cause her trouble later. Well, no more trouble than Jack had caused.

Riddick had chosen to use most of his real name; 'Richard' had become 'Dick', and he had grinned at some private joke about his chosen last name: Cooper. Dick Bennet Cooper. 'Call me D.B.' he'd said with some mischievous glint in his eye. Zemma had only mentally shrugged and smiled back.

"Did she have a lot of creds?" Jensen asked next.

"Plenty enough to buy more than one dress here." The clerk didn't sound impressed, but a quick sideways (and seemingly random) glace told Zemma the Officer had been. Apparently this store was known to be expensive.

"Thank you, Rachel," he concluded politely.

"What'd she do, anyway?" Again, the clerk's tone seemed to imply she expected something truly outrageous.

"Nothing, apparently. But if you see that kid, Jack, again, call us."

Zemma had to smile inwardly, but Min was already smiling at the hats on the wall.

Zemma wasn't sure if she was relieved they thought they were looking for a boy. Not that Jack getting caught now would improve the situation at all. What the hell was that girl thinking?

---

Jack's heart rate had gone up when she spotted the cops coming their way. It was time! She hadn't been very subtle about the pinching, but damn it took them long enough! Now, pure, sweet lil Zemma would just have to wait for her Hero to rescue her.

While Jack sold the real loot she'd snagged, and got the hell off this dump.

She'd seen the signs all morning. Bribes were as commonplace as gratuities here. There was no shortage of shops that would pretend not to know where expensive jewelry came from, even if it was just down the street. The right passport and ID could be forged, the right passage bought out-system…

It had been a last minute plan, but she wanted to get away from Riddick's sudden fatherly attention, and Don's none to subtle hate.

She felt a little bad about Zemma… she was starting to like her.

Jack pushed the thought away. Zemma would be fine. She didn't have a record, the crime paltry enough, all Riddick would have to do is bail her out.

Riddick's gonna be pissed again. But that beat his recent patronizing examination of her well-being, and his intrusion into her past. He always shut up a minute or two before Zemma or Don showed up, like he knew they were comin'.

He always knows shit before it happens.

Bet he didn't see this.

Jack smirked as she took her jacket off. It was reversible, a completely different color inside without looking inside out. She dumped the cap she'd been wearing. She slowed her walk and applied a lipstick she's snagged with the other loot.

She tried not to think about Zemma.


	16. Dilemma

**16. Dilemma **

Jack lost the cop pretty quickly, and cruised the concourse looking for a tube down. She knew this area was just for the tourists. What she was looking for wouldn't be brightly lit and so fucking cheerful.

But she kept thinking about Zemma…

She had finally started to laugh at Jack's jokes, now that she got 'em. Of course, Riddick was probably explaining them to her. Jack didn't like picturing them naked in bed together, talking comfortably in hushed tones…

Jack pushed the image away; tried to keep her walk casual and feminine. But a man rolling dice at a counter caught her eye and brought back thoughts of…

She wasn't a half bad poker player. Jack had even quit cheating, once she realized Zemma _knew_ she was cheating, and wasn't calling her on it. She had her poker face down pat, but would raise an eyebrow, and keep her bets conservative, whenever Jack dealt from the bottom.

Jack grinned ruefully.

Zemma never stayed mad, and she wasn't afraid to pop Jack… or get knocked in the head herself.

Jack caught herself looking back over her shoulder in the direction she'd left Zemma in the clutches of a cop.

Stupid! Stop that! Twit didn't even have the sense to beat feet.

Probably never saw a cop before in her life. Probably scared, like the kid Zemma thought SHE was.

Jack wasn't that far away, so she eased her way back. If they were treating her bad… well, Jack could at least message Riddick, and still be gone before the mess got cleaned up. She made her way up to the mezzanine, to get a view of the scene playing out below.

"My name's Min…"

What the fuck?

"I bought a dress…"

Zemma didn't really look any different, except she looked years younger. Her eyes were wide and glassy… almost blank. Her face was vacant one moment, and childishly happy, then sad, the next. Jack almost laughed out loud.

Damn if the chick didn't have a head on her after all; playing like she didn't have the sense God gave a fencepost.

But the old guy was threatening to cuff Zemma anyway. Prig.

Jack decided she better give Riddick the heads up before she disappeared. This was just supposed to cost time. Not her life. And Riddick had made it pretty clear last time Zemma got hurt would BE the last time.

But no sweet spot for me. Jack could have laughed, but it would have been bitter. No slow death watching her life's blood pool at her feet while the scornful psychopath who'd done it watched, without even a smart-assed remark. No, Riddick said it would be quick and painless. He'd kill her if she crossed him again. But he wouldn't sell her out. He'd kill her before he'd let Them get Their hands on her again.

Jack wasn't liking either scenario. Jack was all about staying under the radar. Riddick, on the other hand, couldn't help being a great big-ass blip on everyone's screen.

So, Riddick's big fatherly attitude change or no… Jack was getting scarce. Besides, he was lousy at it, and Jack was running out of jokes to break the tension. Did he really think he could get inside Jack's head? Did he think it was gonna help Jack to talk about her childhood after her mother died… or… Kyra?

And this whole fucking family dynamic? Zemma couldn't be much older than herself; she was no mother figure!

Kind of sisterly sometimes…

So she'd just give Riddick the heads up… so Zemma wasn't down there too long…

…Before Hero comes to the rescue.

Jack rolled her eyes, and headed for the nearest vid-phone.

But something…

She turned back to the mezzanine rail; something had caught her eye…

Holy Hells!

Don was on the opposite mezzanine, looking pissed enough to kill her with a glance. Which meant he didn't look any different from breakfast…

Jack bolted. She had to get gone before that old man got a hand on her. She had to get that message to Riddick before old Don put his spin on it.

Then, she had to get _way-the-fuck _gone!

---

Don was glad he'd decided to follow the women. Riddick hadn't asked for his help haggling for the cargo, so there wasn't much else to do. Riddick had been pretty cool to him lately. He knew why, of course. Riddick was protecting Jack, despite Jack's efforts to entice someone into killing her. That girl had been daring everyone… daring fate… since he met her. Probably longer.

But being ballsy didn't make him like, or trust, that Jack.

Despite his initial misgivings about Zemma, he'd only just decided he liked her. She'd put up with his heavy handed training, and never once complained to Riddick or Jaron. He'd waited for it the day he nearly busted her nose on the helmet. Jaron had been cool at mess; he'd only asked how Zemma was progressing. Nothing was made of the matter. Jaron had said that they'd make a soldier out of her yet.

Don had to agree. That is, if she could be pried out of Riddick's bed. Youth, wasted on the young and all that crap.

But that Jack…

Riddick wouldn't confirm, or deny, that she was his daughter. Don didn't think she was. But Riddick had been putting up with a lot more shit than Don would ever have guessed the man put up from anybody. And wouldn't say why.

Not that Riddick was a comrade who shared everything. That suited Don. They had respect for each other. That suited Don too. But lately, Riddick seemed willing to stand up for Jack to the point of trading blows. Don wouldn't bother to go that far. The girl wasn't important enough to Don to go to war over.

Was she important enough to Riddick? She was 'something' enough that Riddick got them rooms off the port, just to give the girl, or maybe Don himself, some time away.

Still, it made a man wonder…Why go to so far for this kid?

Some kind of vow, probably. A fallen comrade's kid maybe?

Or… a traitorous one's?

Don had never asked, but the look on Zemma's face… or… the carefully crafted lack of expression… when Riddick had told the story of the kid he wouldn't kill… the kid who was maybe the only antidote to a genetic weapon…

Didn't make him like the smart-ass punk any better. Should have shown a little more consideration to the man who probably spared her life not just once, but again after Zemma…

Nasty business all around.

Again. Nothing said. No anger… well, on Zemma's part. Don thought Riddick might feed the still swearing and kicking youngster to the tiger…

Oh well.

Now, if he caught her… what to do with her? Couldn't just cycle her out the nearest lock like she deserved. He and Riddick just _might_ go to war if he did that. Maybe she'd just fall down a few times…

Or… maybe…

Maybe she'd just get away… this time…

Don changed his course and headed back towards the dock. He didn't need Jack… he needed to tell Riddick about Zemma getting arrested….

Yah. That's it.

Run fast, kid.

---

The two officers and Min stopped at a small office, manned by a few more uniformed officers, and next to a place called "Fast Fried Treats" that smelled delicious. Min hung back at the door, sniffing obviously and trying to look at the pastries in the window next door. But they didn't stay inside; Jensen said they were taking her downtown for booking.

Zemma didn't understand either 'downtown,' or 'booking.'

Min only understood that she was hungry, and they weren't going in to get treats. "Please, please, please…" She didn't quite whine, but leaned hard away from Deak's grip. "I'm hungry…" Zemma had to be careful not to fall back into Min's comfortable habits, like arm swinging, and a sing-song voice. She let herself be led away, looking back over her shoulder pitifully.

She wondered what Riddick would do when they didn't meet him back at the room Jack had called a 'flop.' Zemma had agreed there wasn't much room to do more than that. Would Jack meet Riddick there? Or did she have further plans?

'Downtown' amounted to a tube that slanted downwards, further into the moon, into a quiet business section. The 'streets' were just very large corridors, but the businesses had some windows looking out onto it, and some were decorated. The place she was led seemed dark and ominous compared to the shop fronts with awnings and curtains.

Inside, another uniformed man behind a long counter asked what they had.

Jensen said 'shoplifter,' but Deak made a face and rolled his eyes.

Min said "Hi," cheerfully and looked around with interest, not resisting Deak as he lead her towards some desks in the back, and sat her down in a chair.

"Don't move. I'll be right back."

"Okay," Min agreed and started picking up strange objects on the desk for closer examination.

Deak walked back to where Jensen was talking to a man called Captain.

"She's a good collar," Jensen sounded defensive.

"She's a feeb, Captain." Deak said apathetically.

Zemma watched from the corner of her eye, while Min looked around at everything.

"We got rules; did you read her her rights? We don't want the military here because we can't do our job." The 'Captain' said sourly.

"Won't do no good, Cap." Deak shook his head, but he called Min over.

Min complied with a cheerful smile. "Hi," she said to the new man. "My name's Min." She waited a moment for him to say his name, frowned briefly and repeated herself. "My name's Min. What's your name?"

The Captain rolled his eyes to the older Jensen. "This is your suspect?"

"Just read her her rights," Jensen said dismissively to Deak, and marched off towards the desk Min had been sitting at, followed by an impatient glare at her as he started putting things on the desk back in their place.

The Captain stood by as Deak gamely began reciting. Min looked at him interestedly, until he ended with "Do you understand these rights?"

Min blinked. "Is this a new game?" she asked hesitantly. "Is that the rules?" A frown creased her forehead "I don't know how to play," she said plaintively. She turned to the Captain, "What do I say now?" Her voice wasn't a tiny girl's, but still soft and concerned.

"Just say 'yes' or 'no'," he prompted her.

"Yes or no?" She turned to Deak, "Yes or no," she said seriously.

"No," the Captain started, "it's 'yes' OR 'no'…"

But Deak shook his head, apparently more exasperated with his elders than the simple-minded woman in front of him. "Just say 'no', Min."

Min smiled, looking relieved, and responded with a jubilant 'No.' Zemma suspected the man has some experience in dealing with 'feebs.' "Did I play right?" She asked him.

"You played just fine," he told her, and turned back to the Captain. "Cap, that kid was just using her as a smokescreen. There's no sense in even doing any paperwork on her. She hadn't even seen the other stuff in the bag… and she had creds on her, no judge will…"

"Where'd you get the creds?" The Captain turned to Min again.

Zemma thought about the name Riddick had chosen for his forged passport and had to control a giggle.

"Ben gave them to me to buy a dress…" Min stated happily.

"Is Ben the boy who was with you?" The Captain asked her seriously.

"No silly. Ben is Ben. The boy bought me ice cream." Min frowned. "I'm hungry. Ben will be mad at me if I don't get back for dinner. Ben said he'd take me out in my new dress. No rations! Do you ever eat rations?"

The Captain held up a hand against the barrage of soft but quickly spoken words, and Min paused with a blink. When he put his hand down Min started again, but more slowly, "I bought a new dress…"

"Min," Deak interrupted. "Do you know who Jack is? Did he come with you and Ben?"

"Jack?" Min looked pleasantly puzzled.

"The boy who bought you ice cream…"

"Oh! He was nice. I like ice cream." Min's face lit up just a moment, but fell again. "I'm hungry can I go home now? I bought a new dress, and Ben is going to take me out…"

"Stop!" The Captain held up his hand again and Min paused. When he started to drop his hand Min started again, "…to dinner…"

The hand went back up and Min closed her mouth. Zemma wanted to laugh. Keeping his hand up he spoke to Deak, "Find out who she belongs to, and find that kid."

"And the paperwork?"

"Fuck it."

Zemma saw Deak cringe a second before Min could react.

"Don't say that bad word," she admonished, and turned to Deak. "Can I go home now?"

"Soon."

"Soon?" Min sounded hopeful.

"Soon as we find Ben. What's Ben's last name?"

Min blinked. "Ben is Ben." She smiled.

"Do you know your last name?" Deak tried again, patiently.

"My name is Min," she chirped. "I bought a…"

Zemma heard something clatter loudly against the wall behind her.


	17. Of What Use

**17. Of What Use**

"Rid… it's me." Jack didn't say who me was, didn't need to, and years of habit kept her from leaving too much info unattended. She had the video turned off, too. The girlish quaver in her voice was both unintended and unnoticed. "Something happened."

Jack took a deep breath. Suddenly, the plan seemed incredibly stupid. Riddick probably would have just bought her a ticket off-world if she asked. Hell, Don would have.

But she hadn't asked anyone for anything in such a long time.

"Riddick," she rushed on, "I didn't mean it." She couldn't bring herself to explain what she'd done. "Tell Zem… tell her I'm sorry." Tears sprang into her eyes.

Fucking stupid!

Jack switched the phone off, and leaned her forehead against wall. She took deep breaths and commanded the threatening tears to go away. A familiar, old compulsion filled her.

Run… Run!… RUN!

She did.

---

It had taken a long time for that compulsion to build in her the first time. She had been frozen by fear when she needed it most, and so fell into the hands of the captivating Hypatia, and her soothing deception.

'I'll take care of you.'

Audrey had nodded, eyes wide with fear and hope. Dirty, cold, and hungry, Audrey had needed desperately to be taken care of. Her mother's training was not enough impetus to send the scared and lonely child into the world on her own. She _needed_ a mother…

Hypatia was only the first that would tap into that childish need in order to manipulate the girl. 'Come, Hija… come with me, child…'

Audrey had moved swiftly towards the outstretched hand, to perceived safety… to the path that would change her into Jack, make her a killer. Sometimes, when Jack let herself think on it at all, she would wonder how different things would have been if she had stayed out of reach in her little hole.

She wondered if it would have been better if she had died there.

It would be months before the first inkling of the urge to run would hit her. At first there was only relief. She was safe; this woman would take care of her. She fell into the outstretched arms and only wondered a little why the skin she touched was so cold. It would be months before she learned to recognize the glint in the woman's eye was not happiness.

It was glee.

Audrey didn't know she was the bounty hunter's version of winning the Mega-Bucks. But Jack would never forget the lesson, or forgive the woman who taught it to her so well.

Hypatia whisked Audrey away from the cold and the dark.

The first place they went to was not much different from her mother's apartment, from any of the apartments and hotel rooms her mother had drug her into and out of in the middle of the night. It was small, and dirty, and hardly warmer than outside. The bed stank of smells Jack would later recognize but Audrey only pinched her nose at.

Hypatia moved fluidly through the darkness, humming tunelessly, fixing something mostly edible from the tiny fridge. She didn't speak further to Audrey except to command her to eat the suspect food and go to sleep. Starved, tired, feeling a false sense of hope and relief, Audrey did as she was told.

The gray light of morning did not improve the look of the dingy room. Audrey found herself alone again, and wondering if her savior had only been a dream. She stayed snuggled under the dank blankets until need drove her to the filthy bathroom. Curiosity drove her to look around after that.

There was no power, but at least the water ran clear after a few minutes. There was no more food that looked edible to Audrey. Her mother had always made sure she had fresh food, no matter how difficult their circumstances had been. There was no toothbrush, no towels, no toys… and no way out.

The windows had been barricaded, and peering out between the slats showed Audrey nothing of interest. More dilapidated buildings, boarded up and dark. No people. The door was covered with shiny new locks, none of which Audrey could unlatch from her side. The first shiver of alarm coursed through her. Why was she alone again? Why was she locked in with no food?

Anxiety drove Audrey back to the perceived shelter of the bed. In the dim light she clutched her only possession to her, reading the story she had been taught to read from, the last vestige of her mother's devotion to her. She knew all the words and their general meanings; she could pronounce most of the French names without much difficulty. It was her only education. She couldn't know the story had been abridged and updated from the original syntax.

"…Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of Heaven?"

Was she now the prisoner? She'd loved the character of Aramis, his mystery and misery, his desire to right a wrong and save the noble boy from his injustice.

'And my mother?' The boy prisoner asked.

'She is dead _for you_.' Aramis replied.

'But, she lives for others?'

'Yes.'

'And I - and I," the young man looked sharply at Aramis. 'Am compelled to live in the obscurity of a prison?'

'Yes. I'm afraid so.'

'Because my presence in the world would lead to the revelation of a great secret?'

'Certainly, a very great secret.'

'My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the Bastille, a child such as I was.'

'He is.'

Audrey fell sleep, crying silent tears and wondering about her mother's secret. She dreamed of a great man, brave enough to stand against the mystery of her young life and change its course for the better.

Hypatia did not return until darkness. Audrey heard the locks turn with a snick, and the jangle of keys as they were locked again from the inside.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" The melodious voice called out. But Audrey stayed huddle in the center of the bed, clutching her book in the darkness.

A lithe figure appeared in the doorway, the pale skin of her face seeming to hover like a ghost's. Large dark eyes mere sockets of further darkness, pointed in her direction. Audrey felt that sliver of dread she had experienced that morning when she discovered she was alone.

"There you are," the too-sweet voice floated out from the disembodied face. Audrey shivered.

"Come eat," the woman turned away without waiting to see what Audrey would do.

When she didn't return or prompt Audrey further, hunger drove the child to seek the ethereal woman out in the darkness.

"What's your name?" Audrey asked the shadow that sat still as stone at the dilapidated table.

"Hypatia."

"Hi-pay-she-uh? That's a funny name."

"It's unique. Like me."

"I'm unique too." Audrey's childish pride outweighed her fear.

"Yes, I know. Now, come eat, or you will be as common as any other dead body." The voice wasn't angry or threatening, but the words chilled Audrey. She moved to obey. She sat delicately on the edge of a broken chair and reached for the plastic-wrapped sandwich waiting for her.

In the dim lights cast from outside, the woman seemed too still, dark and flat, like a cut out of a person, rather than a real one: Like a sinister paper doll.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Audrey asked shyly.

"It's not time for me to eat yet," the woman said simply.

Audrey didn't understand this odd answer. She hadn't said that she wasn't hungry, just that it wasn't time yet. The young girl had a sudden fearful thought that perhaps SHE was to be the meal, in time.

The tinkle that was this bizarre woman's laugh chilled Audrey, rather than set her at ease. "Don't worry, kid, I'm not fattening you up like Hansel and Grettel." The sweet, high voice was filled with amusement, and something else… something creepy.

Audrey swallowed dryly.

"Hurry up," the voice menaced impatiently. "There are Bad People looking for you, we have to get _way_ the fuck gone before _They_ get any closer."

Audrey nodded woodenly and obeyed.

What use to talk of Heaven when the Devil had you in her clutches?

---

One level down, Jack found her new hidey-hole. The archetypal red light drew her eye to the establishment over the heads of the day's commuters. Few were turning into it, and no one looked too closely at it, or its patrons. Jack changed her walk, the tilt of her head, the expression on her face, before she reached the door, and tried to stride past the man there without a glace.

"Hey!" He caught her arm. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Jack looked the bouncer up and down coolly. "I'm the new girl." She stared pointed at his hand on her arm. "Unless things have changed in the last five seconds, I don't owe you shit till _after_ my shift."

The man released her immediately, but his scowl didn't changed. "Red didn't say there was a newbie comin'."

"Shit man," Jack's eyes looked seductively at his muscles, as her fingers traced them lightly. "I ain't no newbie. I just play one for the John Q's." She pouted her lips and promised to prove it with a wink.

The man snorted disinterestedly as his eyes glazed over with boredom. "'Bout time Red found us another Schoolgirl Slut." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door dismissively. "In the back. Get your ass in there or you'll be docked for missing Happy Hour."

Jack turned away from the street and it's proliferation of 'mundanes' herding through their mundane life. They wouldn't think to look for Jack here. She could make some connections, get her shit fenced, make a little fast cash… and maybe sleep in the arms of something smooth and cuddly tonight. Jack headed unerringly towards the ever-present back room office. She wondered only briefly if 'Red' was a man or woman, and how long her 'audition' might take on the ubiquitous casting couch.

None of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.

She let the pounding bass beat of the music blank her mind.

Of what use… to talk of Heaven?

---

Riddick was just finishing the supervision of the new cargo into the open hold space cleared by this morning's sale. They'd made the profit he'd hoped for, plus some, above the price of kickbacks. His bid on the new freight had won, and his flight plan approved for their next stop. The next port would have nothing to suspect about their forged papers now, with the legitimacy of this shipment.

D.B. Cooper had shrugged off a few amused comments about his likeness to the infamous Riddick, with the casual indifference of a man used to the same joke. His eyes were his best disguise now; with his lenses dropped he simply could not be the popular anti-hero and renowned killer. Everyone knew the clean-shaven Riddick had his eyes surgically altered, and he was forced to wear goggles outside the darkness of slam. Besides, Riddick would never be found bartering salvage and attending shipping auctions, right?

Riddick scratched at his new beard, cut stylishly short, and rubbed his hand through his flat top hair. Zemma had been pleased with the novel sensation it afforded. Jack had doubled over with laughter at the sight of his new look.

"Hair? The great and powerful Riddick has given up shaving with axle grease and a shiv? What _will _the boys back home think?"

Riddick had run his hand roughly over Jack's own longer locks, knocking her head roughly from side to side. "Careful there, Jack, someone might mistake you for a girl."

She'd punched him hard in the kidneys to remind him she was more than a mere girl. He'd smiled at that; for such a little thing, she had good clout. It was a pleasant moment, and Riddick felt a strong sense of companionship.

Zemma's right, she's just a kit with sharp teeth.

He wanted to help her become something more, somehow. She'd been living her life on the edge of control, ruled by fear and anger, for so long. A tiny kernel of regret for leaving her alone all those years ago invaded his personal sense of the Now. Maybe something else could have been done. Maybe he could have taught her to control herself.

Maybe, if he could get to her, he still could.

Don stood expressionlessly against one wall of the huge docking bay, his whole body emanating tension. Riddick made a beeline for the man he might one day consider a friend, and wondered what the hell Jack had done this time…

"Well?" They needed no preamble.

"Zemma's been arrested, for shoplifting, I think." Don kept his voice cool and distant.

Riddick kept his whole body cool, his emotions distant. "And Jack?"

"She bolted."

Riddick's only reaction was the tightening in his jaw. "Find out where they took Zemma."

"And Jack?"

Riddick turned away; he didn't have a response to that. What was the use?

"There's one more thing," Don stayed professionally detached; though about this he was truly curious. "Zemma told the cops her name was 'Min.'"

Riddick turned back to Don, one eyebrow raised as if to say, 'Did I just hear you right?'

Don's mouth quirked slightly as he nodded once.

"Call me at the room when you find her." Before Riddick turned away he thought he saw Don's shoulder twitch in an aborted salute, but he nodded instead, and left without further comment. Good enough.

Christ. Had she slipped on the old mask, or had It slipped back onto her?


	18. Roll With The Punches

**18. Roll With The Punches **

Deak tookMin away from all distractions, and the smirking Jensen, into a small room furnished with only a table, a few chairs, and, strangely, a large mirror.

"Sit down," he offered, rather than ordered.

Min sat; Zemma waited.

"Min, I want you to be able to go home soon. But we have to find Ben. You have to help me, okay?"

Min nodded and smiled vaguely. She knew she couldn't afford to be too much help. She didn't want Riddick getting blindsided. She had to be gone long enough for him to realize something was wrong. She couldn't afford to think Jack would go straight to him with the warning.

"You came here on a merchant ship, and you docked at the Zenith Port, right?"

There were two commercial sized ports, Zenith and Nadir. Not terribly original names, in Zemma's opinion, but certainly descriptive. One was at the top, the other the bottom, of the moon base. The base ran through the whole of the moon, in warrens and tunnels. Ground control directed approaching ships to one or the other ports, according to berth space and available shipments going out. Smaller pleasure craft could dock at any number of smaller ports that dotted the surface between the two commercial ports. They were closest to the Zenith port.

"Zenith?" Min frowned a bit, as if trying to remember something important. "Me and Ben live on a ship. I get so tired of rations. Ben said we could go to dinner…"

"All right, Min," Deak was patient about interrupting her flow of thought, but determined to keep her on task. "Do you know the name of your ship?"

Fortunately, the ship only had a number, a forged one, granted.

"Ships aren't people, silly! Only people have names." Zemma didn't know if other merchant ships went nameless, but Min could safely think it.

Deak sighed. Min forged on.

"And pets, pets can have names. I don't have a pet now. I used to have a cat. I miss her. Her name was Nor. She was a nice cat. I wish I could have a cat again. Do you have a pet cat?"

Min stopped with an interested smile.

Deak paused, considering how much off-topic conversation to engage in; perhaps wondering if Min would drop clues to her origin if not pressed too hard to remember specifics.

"I had a cat once too," he smiled resignedly.

Min beamed. "What was her name?" Zemma wondered again if this man had some personal experience with 'feebs,' and worried a little that that familiarity might trip her up.

"'Kitty'," he looked a little far away for a moment. "My sister named him. She thought he was a girl cat, though."

Min smiled outwardly, as Zemma smiled inwardly. A 'feeb' sister? Time to dig a little.

"You have a sister?" Min smiled brightly, at first. "I never had a sister," Min added forlornly.

"Had," he didn't elaborate, but it was enough for Zemma to work with.

"Is she nice?" Min went back to her vacant smile. "I always wanted a nice sister."

"She was very nice," sadness effused him.

Zemma felt a little guilty for this distraction. But she needed the time, and the more information she could dig up, the longer she could keep the man engrossed.

Min continued to smile. "Does she have dolls?" Zemma thought it might be best not to recognize the past tense.

"Yes, she had dolls. They were all named 'Dolly'." Deak still fluctuated between happy memories, and some present sadness.

"I'm too old for dolls," Min pouted just a little. "I'm a big girl now," she tried to sound proud of that, and yet just a little uncertain. Zemma didn't want this Min too childish.

"Yes, you are a big girl." Deak smiled reassuringly.

Min beamed back at him.

"I'm hungry."

Deak only nodded, still caught up somewhere in his past. "I'll find you a sandwich." He got up to leave.

"Can I come with you?" Min sounded a little worried. Zemma didn't relish the idea of being stuck in a little room by herself for some unknown length of time, or letting him investigate uninterrupted.

Deak looked around as if assessing the depressingly bare room for the first time. "Do you like to draw?"

Min smiled as if delighted by the idea. Zemma had never drawn anything but diagrams with a computer stylus. But lack of experience in this area would be in character… if it got her out of the room, she'd be satisfied to sit quietly (watching) and scribble on whatever he gave her.

Deak opened the door. "C'mon, Min. But you have to promise to be quiet and stay where I put you."

Min grinned in hearty agreement. "I will. I promise!"

* * *

Don found the police sub-station on the main concourse with ease. But he didn't see Zemma through the front window. He guessed she must have been taken to the main station for booking and a jail cell.

Unless that child-act worked. Then maybe they wouldn't bother to arrest her. He doubted they would just let her wander off again though. Don puffed himself up indignantly and walked in boldly.

"I have a complaint about one of your officers!" He started without waiting for a 'may I help you' from the nearest uniform.

The officer looked up, bored, with only a raised eyebrow to indicate surprise. That was good; it indicated the kind of service they gave wouldn't be militarily sharp. Don would be able to push them around a bit.

"What's the name of the officer, and the nature of the complaint?" The man's demeanor signified only routine as he took a form from a drawer and hunched over it.

"Are you the desk-sergeant?" Don blustered, poking a finger the man's way.

"No. He would be downtown at the main station," the man never looked up, pencil poised over the piece of paper. "Your name, Sir?"

"I don't want to talk to some flunky. I wanna talk to your boss!" Don huffed up like an irate Drill Instructor.

"Take A-tube down one level to Main, half a block down on the right." The man put his pencil down in relief. No extra paper work would be required of him.

Don turned and stormed out, a stream of profanity about flunkies wasting the hard workingman's taxes flowing in his wake. Public servants never changed, from world to world, or over 30 years time. But he was grinning to himself.

* * *

Riddick frowned at the message left at the hotel room. Jack sounded scared and remorseful. But was it only because she'd been caught before she escaped clean?

'Tell Zem… tell her I'm sorry.'

He intended to make sure Jack told Zemma personally _just_ how sorry she was.

Now, what would the kid do? Hide out, or jump on the first transport?

She might or might not have enough money yet. Or even if she had pinched enough to buy passage off, she would need time to fence it. So where would she hide?

Riddick thought about what he knew of her, which was far too little, he realized. But he could follow her crooked train of thought… She would go exactly the opposite of where he expected. So, no lez bars. No fences. No hock shops… but nothing legit either. Didn't leave much else.

Her ribbing him about the light gravity hookers came back in a flash.

Red light district: Fast cash, no questions, and friendly women with the same cynical view of men that Jack professed.

Front desk could probably steer a weary traveler to the right establishment, one with girls that looked a little like young boys.

He placed the call.

* * *

'Red' turned out to be female, and not inclined to sample the merchandise. Not that Jack would have minded this time. She was gorgeous; the benefits of a lifetime in light gravity.

"We happen to have an opening for someone in your specialty." The woman was cool and professional. Very Domme. Jack would have enjoyed auditioning this one time. But she could roll with the punches. Sleeping with the boss wasn't staying under the radar anyway.

"But how did you happen to hear of it?" Red wasn't just curious, she was suspicious.

"Lucky break, Ma'am," Jack cast her eyes down, trying to appeal to the woman's obvious proclivity for dominance. "A girl just needs a job and a flop. This was the first place that caught her eye."

Jack made a quick glance up to see how the woman was reacting… and thought for a moment she might get that chance to demonstrate her 'specialty' after all. A pleased and predatory smile suffused the woman's features.

"You look like you'll fit Carmen's uniform. You have any objections to playing to both audiences?" Red's voice was practically a purr now; the purr of a hungry lioness, at any rate.

"No, Ma'am," Jack played her humble part.

"You'll grow your hair out too, just long enough for pig tails." It wasn't a question, and it didn't require an answer, only obedience.

"Whatever You say, Ma'am." Jack was satisfied when the inflected 'You' got the response she wanted. The woman definitely looked hungry, now.

* * *

The front desk was very accommodating, sending Riddick the live updates screen for all the available entertainment. As he scrolled down looking for the attractions with the 'New!' icon, a name caught his attention.

"New! Debuting only at Red's! Carmen, young and innocent as a schoolgirl! Now taking dances and appointments! Click here for times and price! Early bird specials daily!"

Riddick stared at the banner. Was it coincidence? Would she take _that_ name?

He moved on, reading each headline carefully. Pictures of the specialty entertainers accompanied most banners. None looked like Jack; none seemed to fit so well as that one. Riddick went back to it, wondering how long before they updated the server with a pic.

How could she take that name? Didn't she realize it would be a beacon to Riddick? Was she crying out to be caught?

* * *

Min sat quietly at the bare desk with pen and paper, scribbling slowly with her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Occasionally she would glance up and around, finding Deak's eye and smile. She nibbled delicately at the crackers he'd provided.

Zemma, however, watched the room more carefully, in between practicing Furyan letters. Sometimes she would draw little circles on top of them and put smiley faces in the circles so the letters didn't look too much like an alphabet. But mostly she watched the room, and Deak.

He was calling up docking records for Zenith, looking for a nameless merchant ship that had landed in the last 24 hours and comparing the manifest names to the three he knew: Min (which he wouldn't find, Zemma still worried about that), Ben, and Jack. Apparently, this moon was a very busy place; the list seemed quite long. Zemma was glad of that at least. She didn't need to create a distraction to slow him down.

Deak looked at his watch, and made a call. "Any missing person's reports come in yet?"

Whatever the answer, it made him frown. Zemma wasn't sure Riddick would know she was gone yet, let alone if he would make an official report over her absence.

Then, a familiar voice set her heart racing.

"I wanna make a complaint!"

Zemma kept her head down with a frown. Should she acknowledge Don as a shipmate? Min concentrated on her paper, seemingly oblivious. She'd let Don lead.

"What's your complaint, Sir?" A professional voice at the front responded.

"One of your officers crashed into me as I was shopping and didn't bother to apologize…" The indignant voice trailed off. "Min?" Then a little louder, "Min, child, what are you doing here?"

Min looked to the voice as Deak leaped up from his desk. "Hi," she chirped. "Is Ben with you?"

"He's at the dock, I'm sure…" Don went on uncertainly.

"Oh." Min looked disappointed a moment, before returning to her papers.

Deak, however, was already at the front desk. "You know this girl?" His voice stayed professional, but Zemma could hear the suppressed relief in it.

"Yes…" Don said tentatively. "I'm a passenger on the same ship…"

Zemma was impressed with the character Don was showing. She never would have thought he had the imagination to play out the emotions of a concerned man not really wanting to get drawn into the affairs of others. But his voice had the perfect amount of cool reticence to it. He sounded rather like a Monger Lady wanting to hear the latest gossip, without seeming to let it involve her, just in case it went badly for those concerned.

Zemma smiled to herself. Just how much had she misjudged this man?

Deak was moving on quickly. "You know Ben? What's his last name?"

"Uh, Cooper. Captain Cooper. I never did figure out why she calls him Ben though."

From the corner of her eye, Zemma saw Deak look up from what he was scribbling on a pad. "Oh?"

"Told me his name was Dick…"

Min popped her head up, "Don't you say that bad word!" But she immediately went back to her drawings.

"…but to call him D.B. Anyway, she always calls him Ben. Must be his middle name, eh?"

Zemma was pleased Don caught onto the name she used so quickly. She wished she could see the look on his face more clearly. He'd never experienced her alter ego in person… That made her wonder, though, how did he know to call her Min?

'_One of your officers crashed into me as I was shopping…'_ Oh! Had he been following them? Had he, or Riddick, suspected Jack was up to something? Had he seen her play her role for the officers? Zemma felt foolish again, that she'd been deceived by the girl. She tried to control a blush. Riddick was gonna be pissed that she'd let Jack get the best of her again.

"What's the name of the ship?" Deak was moving on.

"It just has call letters," Don, the helpful stranger, answered. "I don't know them. Just a passenger, you know…"

"You know what berth you're docked at?"

"Eighteen, but I believe the Captain took a room off the port…"

From her peripheral vision Zemma saw Deak turn slowly towards her. She waited for him to ask the obvious question, but he seemed to be taking a deep breath. "Min?" He sounded exasperated. "Do you have a key with you?"

Min looked up innocently. "Yes," she smiled naively. Zemma knew the name of the hotel and the particular room number was engraved on the card. One quick call would have had the name of the man registered to it.

Behind her, Jensen was laughing loudly.


	19. Masks

**19. Masks**

"Is she… in some kind of trouble?" Don asked in his curious, but not wanting to get implicated, voice.

Deak turned back to Don as if he'd forgotten he was there. Min looked on as blankly as possible.

"We just want to make sure she gets back where she belongs." Deak's cold, professional manner barked out, 'None of your damn business. Have a nice day.'

"Well, none of this will delay the ship's departure, will it?" Indignity was creeping back into Don-the-Stranger's voice.

Deak's face calmed into one of placating reassurance before Zemma's eyes, and before he turned back to Don. "We just have a few questions for the Captain of that ship. You should be on your way on time."

Don huffed as if skeptical.

So many masks in this room!

"Was there a boy on board with you?" The officer's question was outwardly casual.

Zemma hoped Don heard the sudden suspicion in it.

"Eh?" Don looked back to Zemma, but seemingly unconcerned. "Some girl. Kept to herself. I didn't notice if she got off at this stop or not." He appeared ready to dismiss the whole mess and leave. "If that's all then?"

"Did you have some complaint?" The man at the front desk asked politely.

Don waved a hand in negation. "Never mind," he said crossly, and left hurriedly.

Deak crossed the room back to Min. "May I see your key-card, please, Min?" His irritation was evident even to Min, who frowned.

"Ben said not to give it to anybody…" Min spoke hesitantly.

Deak took a deep breath. "It's all right, Min. I'm the good guy."

"You'll give it back? You wont tell Ben I gave it to you?"

"Yes, Min."

"Okay," but Min exuded reluctance.

Deak took the card she fished from her pocket to his desk and called the hotel. After giving his credentials, he requested the name of the occupant. Shortly he was typing that info into the computer.

"Captain…uh, **D**… Bennet Cooper…"

Zemma could have giggled at his automatic deletion of the 'bad word.' She was relieved, at least, that she didn't have to worry about Riddick getting caught cold. Don would warn him now.

"Zem-ma… En-non…Wuh-nee-tah…"

Zemma had never heard someone brutalize her name before.

"Audrey Smith… Donald Wardah…"

He looked over at Min. "Audrey?"

Min looked on blankly. Zemma thought Jack's alias was kinda pretty. She wondered if it was Earth origin.

"Zemma?"

Min smiled, but Zemma cringed inside. It felt very disconcerting to wear a mask, and be called by her real name. She understood now why aliases were useful. Perhaps she should have Don make her a new passport…

"Zemma?" Deak asked again, checking Min's reaction carefully.

Min only smiled at the familiar word.

"Is that your name? Zemma En-on…" he looked back to the computer screen. "Wuh-netta?"

"My name's Min," she started not sochipper as before."That's what Daddy called me." Min looked down as if very sad. Zemma hoped the nickname of a dead father would be enough to cover the passport difference. She glanced up a little, to get a quick read on him. But Deak was nodding as if the revelation was exactly what he was expecting. Zemma sighed inwardly.

"Time to give Ben a call," he told her kindly. "So you can go get dinner."

"And we can get the _Fuck_ back to work," Jensen said sourly from across the room.

Min started to say, "Don't say…" but at Jensen's look she curbed the rest with a sulk.

* * *

Riddick hit the off switch when Don was done with his report, only to have the attention signal buzz immediately. He took a deep breath, mentally putting his camouflage back on. Anyone who knew him well, friend or foe, would know D.B. Cooper was really Riddick. But the facade should be enough for some backwater cop who just KNEW Riddick couldn't go without goggles, and just KNEW Riddick wouldn't be captaining a shitty little freighter for piss of a profit.

"Yah." Riddick hit voice only.

"Captain Cooper?"

"Yah."

"My name is Officer Thaddeus Deak. I'm afraid we have one of your passengers down here…"

"Min…" D.B. Cooper sighed as if expecting it. "Is she okay? What did she get into this time?"

"She's fine. We just have some questions…"

"Do I need to bring bail?"

"No, nothing like that."

Don was right; the young cop had taken Min at face value. Well, that _might_ make things easier. But that didn't tell him if Zemma was wearing Min, or the other way around. Don hadn't been sure. Her whole demeanor had stayed consistent he'd said. Riddick decided he would be proud of her, if he didn't have to break that protective shell off her again. Sometimes great shocks could throw a person back into their old defenses… Like Jack.

Riddick could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background… no doubt looking up their various aliases. If Don did his job right he shouldn't find anything of interest.

"But, she's okay?" D.B. Cooper asked again, as if needing some reassurances before showing up to face the mess.

"She's fine. Hungry though. She missed lunch. I couldn't find a sandwich." This Officer Deak actually sounded sorry. "Can you just clear up your relationship for me?" More than sorry, down right protective.

"She's…" Riddick hadn't about that. He hadn't thought about it in context of Zemma too much, and never expected to have to explain Min.

"Ben saved me," Riddick heard Min pipe up in the background. "After my Daddy died."

"She's my charge," Riddick finished. Later, he'd have to talk to Zemma about keeping lies simple. It would have been better if she were just a passenger on his ship. She had the kernel of truth part down pat. Maybe that was a good sign. Or, maybe not, Min might have seen it as just that: that he'd saved her.

The officer gave 'Captain Cooper' directions to the station and switched off.

Riddick ran rough hands over the stubble on his head and face. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. Jack would have to keep awhile.

Pity. Would have been easier to deal with Jack right now.

* * *

Min was restless waiting for 'Ben' to show up. Zemma had to keep a tight rein on her own movements. It was amazing how hard it was to avoid Min's old habits. She didn't need to annoy anyone now. Just sit tight and wait for Riddick to…

…(save)…

…fetch her.

Then what to do about Jack? Besides kick her in the head again…

* * *

Riddick didn't know how much Min had said. He had to think up something that would cover any contingency. Later, he'd have to teach Zemma how to lie.

She'd already said he'd saved her after her daddy died. Not too complicated there. But this Deak was feeling protective of her. He might have asked about, or Min might have volunteered, a greater relationship than Hero and Damsel in Distress.

How could he explain sleeping with the girl? She looked old enough, though younger than her actual years. How old was she acting this time? That might make all the difference. Don hadn't said, but then he had no experience with the previous incarnation of Min.

His mind worked the problem. A solution always existed.

He thought about Captain D. B. Cooper… Single, still or again, flying a bunch of junk solo… he'd have needs… but Officer Deak might take offense to that by itself.

What if he wasn't taking advantage of her? How does the mostly noble, but not priestly, Captain manage to meet and seduce the mostly feeble-minded, but not entirely childish, girl?

She was already sexually active…

He'd saved her… From what? After her father died, what became of her?

She'd been taken advantage of…

The not so righteous Captain might have run into her… on the street… might not have noticed her handicap… before he paid the man for her services…

Might have taken her away from that life…

But the relationship had already been consummated…

So fucking complicated. But then also impossible to trace. It might work.

* * *

Captain D.B. Cooper walked into the station house, gunless, knifeless, emotionless. Riddick wasn't as creative about his assumed alias' personality. He spotted Zemma sitting at a desk, tongue between her teeth, writing something…

He caught her tiny movement, the glance from the corner of her eye, the soft sigh… of relief? So it was Zemma in there, not Min. For this whole fiasco, at least there was that… Jack hadn't fucked up _too_ much.

He walked up to the front desk, to the uniformed officer, and mentally assessed the fighting caliber of the man. Soft. Peace Officer, he sneered inside, not a War Bringer.

"I'm Cooper. D.B. Cooper. Someone here called me?"

No one glanced up at his name but the man behind the main desk, and a younger officer sitting near Zemma. Probably a good thing no one gets the joke. Zemma's head snapped up as if just realizing his presence there.

"Ben!"

"Captain Cooper…" The youngish officer presented a hand. "I'm Thaddeus Deak."

Riddick had seldom shook hands for any reason other than to intimidate someone, but he took the one offered, and tried to remind himself he was 'Captain Cooper.'

"Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben." Zemma went on happily, and tried to capture his hand. She was staring at him adoringly. "I bought a dress!"

"That's good, Min," he acknowledged her patiently. He wanted to get this over with quick. He wanted to get Zemma as far away from Min and this place as possible.

"I just have a few questions for you, then you both can go. Why don't you come sit down over here…" Deak led the way towards his desk. Zemma was suddenly attached to Riddick's arm.

"I'm hungry, Ben. You said we could go to dinner."

"I know, Min, I know. Just give us a minute, would you?" Cooper, Riddick decided, was a lot nicer than he would be.

Riddick sat stiffly on the edge of the proffered chair, while Zemma stood close, stroking his shoulder with her fingers. He might need that story after all. He definitely needed to teach her to tell simpler lies.

"You said Min is your… charge?" Deak looked skeptical.

"I take care of her." Riddick kept it simple. Cooper kept it civil.

"How did you come to be responsible for her? You aren't related are you?"

Riddick sighed inwardly.

"No. Not related."

"So how did she come to be in your… care?" Deak made 'care' sound chary.

"I took her in." Riddick knew the rules; never give em more than they ask for. They get suspicious when you ramble out too much at once. And Cooper would be a tad defensive about his 'relationship.'

"Where's her actual family?" Deak looked prepared to take notes, as if it was all routine. Riddick took none of it as routine. The cop had become personally involved in this.

"Tried to find them. Dead, I guess."

"You don't know?" Deak's eyebrows rose with his tone of voice.

"She was more or less alone, when I found her." Cooper sounded unconvincing.

"I take it you're not married, then?"

"No," Cooper searched the ceiling for the right thing to say. "Let's just say, she's a member of the crew."

"She's listed on your manifest as a passenger."

"She keeps the place clean, so she's crew."

"So she's… earning… her passage?"

Riddick decided Cooper had taken about as much innuendo as he intended to.

"Why don't you ask me the question that's really on your mind, so we can just get out of here?"

But Deak wasn't going to be hurried. "Why did you let her go out alone? You know she was found in the company of a petty thief. Do you have a boy on board, who might also be… earning his passage? Kid named Jack?"

Deak was watching Riddick carefully. Zemma noticed Jensen actually was too. She could have told him it was nearly impossible to read the man cold, which was a good thing in this case. Riddick looked cold enough to kill, but Min could only look on…

"I don't like what you're implying." Riddick decided Cooper wouldn't catch the worst implication. "You're talking smuggling. My manifest is clean. You wanna inspect my ship too?"

"Hey. I gotta ask."

"It's not the first time she's been taken advantage of at a space port. I've been trying to teach her better. You should have seen her a year ago. Swinging her arms, singing nonsense, chasing butterflies… hell, she talked to walls. It was very…aggravating."

Riddick felt Zemma's fingernails bite into his arm for just a second. Amusement briefly replaced aggravation. He liked that he could tease her and she couldn't respond at all.

"You didn't answer my question. Why did you let her go out alone?"

"She's pretty functional. I thought _this_ was a safe port."

Deak ignored the barb.

"Her papers say Zemma, but she only responds to Min. How do you account for that?" Deak seemed to relish the emotional response he'd gotten from 'Captain Cooper.'

"Hell if I know. She had an alert-tag bracelet that said Zemma Enon W'Neta. But she only says…"

"My name's Min!" Min sounded agitated. "Ben, I bought a dress. Can we go now!"

'Captain Cooper' and Deak looked at each other, Riddick shrugged. Deak seemed to be thinking things over. Jensen, looking on from his desk, hooked a thumb toward the door and mouthed, 'Get 'em the FUCK outta here.'

"Look," Deak leaned into Riddick companionably. "I can see she loves you…" If Deak was looking for another outward emotional response to that, he got none. "And we don't have the facilities to take in someone… with her special needs. So, just explain it to me so I can sleep tonight."

Cooper leaned in and spoke quietly, but matter-of-factly. "I picked her up a year ago… for a little… distraction. You know the drill." He waved a hand, encompassing the whole facility. The moon's economy was based on men like Cooper. "When I paid the guy, she seemed willing enough…"

"I didn't know she was… special, until later… when I tried to talk to her…" 'Captain Cooper' leaned back in the chair. "She didn't like it there. I couldn't leave her with him. I'd made a good profit that run. I …bought her…contract… away from him."

Deak nodded as if understanding.

"I take good care of her. She takes care of the ship." Cooper spread his hands in appeal. "Can we go now? I promised her dinner."

"I'm hungry…"

Deak nodded but didn't stand or indicate Captain Cooper could. "Little advice…"

Riddick was ready to cram this man's advice down his throat. But Cooper waited patiently.

"…Don't let her go out alone. Okay? This moon can be a harsh mistress." The last bit was almost a plea. Something personal floating to the surface. Riddick didn't care as long as he was done here.

He stood. "Get your bag, Min."

"Have a nice dinner," Jensen mumbled sardonically.


	20. Red Light

**20. Red Light**

"You scared the shit outta me." Riddick spoke under his breath once they were away from the police station and the over-zealous Deak.

"Don't say that bad…" But Riddick squeezed her arm painfully. Zemma dropped the Min voice. "Damn. I was just kidding."

Riddick grumbled in response.

"How did I scare you?"

Riddick didn't answer her.

Zemma noticed they weren't heading up, back towards the docks. "Where are we going?" She wondered if once again they were on a trek for Jack.

Like this whole damn trip.

"Check something."

"Uh-huh."

He glanced sideways at her.

"We off to help Don hide the body?" Her voice was amused, facetious.

He almost chuckled. The corner of his mouth tweaked up, and he snorted a bit. "On a moon base you just blow 'em out the nearest air lock. Don't even have to pre-kill em."

Said in his deep dead-pan voice, Zemma wanted to laugh out loud. "So, where is she?"

"I don't know yet."

"Liar," she smiled when she said it. He never did anything without purpose.

They kept on a steady, deliberate track. Zemma noticed most of the businesses here, at this hour, were mostly closed up. The few that remained open were well lit and included a red lamp over the front door.

Riddick halted their course, staring at another building with a red light.

"You think she's in there?" It wasn't really a question.

"Maybe."

"Are we going in?"

"Not we."

"Nuh-uh. I owe her the kick in the head before you cycle her out the nearest lock."

"You think I'd kill her…over this?" He sounded mildly offended again.

She didn't think he would. But it was one more unnecessary frustration caused by Jack for just that purpose: to piss Riddick off. Zemma wondered how the girl had lived so many years with that kind of attitude. Maybe she only did it to Riddick?

"I wouldn't want you to," she told him seriously.

That made him look at her again, search her face a moment, before looking back to the building. "Why do you protect her? You don't have history with her. She seems pretty willing to screw you over at a moment's notice."

Hhmmn. That sounded like he _hadn't_ been expecting this. Jack had fooled him too.

He took her arm, and led her away from his surveillance of the building.

"I don't know why I like her." Zemma only knew she did like the foolish and reactionary girl, most of the time. Riddick was a new entity in her life, a lover. Jaron was a familiar one, like a father. Don, well, Don she hadn't figured out yet, but he didn't appear to hate her and that was novel in itself. Jack… Jack was no Dame Vaako. Zemma couldn't see Jack as an enemy. When Riddick wasn't around Jack was almost…

Zemma didn't have a good concept of 'friend'. Her mother had kept her separate from the other children for the most part. Her father, and their secret, had kept her completely isolated. Zemma thought about Kyra sometimes… her immediate craving for a friend when the guards had said 'her Furyan was dead'. It had been irrational to reveal herself to someone just because she knew a Furyan.

But the compulsion to connect to someone had been so strong. Was that blinding her to Jack's true nature? Zemma glanced up at Riddick's rough face, and thought about the poetic horror story he told of his first meeting with Jack on the planet full of monsters. The bond of the survivors had transcended their completely different natures and backgrounds; their need to connect to each other after the terror had been strong. Was it blinding Riddick to Jack's true nature?

"She's not evil." Zemma finally said aloud. "She's out of control and self destructive, but she's not evil."

"She tried to kill you once."

"Fear, not malice." Zemma saw Riddick nod ever so slightly just once. She thought he'd wanted to forgive her for that, because he'd saved her once, and he wanted her to stay saved.

"She's been acting strange just lately. Have you asked her why?"

Tension in his clenched jaw. So he hadn't come right out and asked her? Zemma would have liked to laugh at her stoic lover. "You've been talking to her privately so much lately, but you didn't ask her what was actually on her mind?"

Riddick threw her a glance that said, "Yeah, so?"

Zemma had been jealous of the overheard conversations that ended when she entered the room. She'd been jealous of Riddick's outright protectiveness of the girl to Don. She'd pushed those feelings away right along with her feelings of friendliness towards Jack. And where did it leave Jack?

It left her alone, and scared, again.

Instead of being happy she had Riddick's undivided attention, she'd been pressured by it. Zemma could see it now; the tension between them had grown, not improved. Jack had been trying to be friendly to Zemma, and not piss Riddick off anymore. Zemma must have seemed cool towards her; their burgeoning friendship had fallen off not because of Jack's sharp wit, but because Zemma was holding back, trying to give her space and time with Riddick.

And Don just made everyone think he hated them.

Zemma thought about her first weeks on the frigate. Zemma had felt left out, and angry about it. Now the dynamic had changed subtly and Jack was feeling it. No wonder she…

"She was just trying to run away." Zemma knew, from her own experience, how Riddick felt about that.

"I know."

"Are we gonna eat, before we go bring her back?"

"You're going back to the ship. I'm going to go talk to her. Then we're off this chunk, with or without her."

Zemma kept her mouth shut. More Riddick talk was probably exactly what Jack didn't need. She needed forgiveness. She needed a friend.

And another kick in the head?

That too.

Zemma still thought the young woman was afraid of something scarier than the soldier of death who walked beside her. Jack would just keep running, hiding inside that mask of callousness, until that was somehow resolved. An awkward overture of parental interest on Riddick's part wasn't going to solve it. If he wanted her to stay saved…

…then Zemma would try to save her. For him.

-

There. He'd said it.

"Don't say that bad…"

He squeezed where he was holding her arm just above her elbow. It was a control hold every cop used, but it didn't need to look forced if you kept them close to you. Force was something he needed to keep in check right now. He hated that damn little girl voice. He hated the story he had to tell. He hated spending even a quarter of an hour in any police station. He hated trying to be something he wasn't. He was a killer, but he didn't exploit kids.

"How did _I_ scare you?"

Trying to avoid her part in this mess? Didn't she see that she should have just been herself and this would have been easier? Bail or jail break, both were at least… clean.

'The dirtier the better,' she'd told him once when she tried to explain why she'd played her father's feeble minded lover for so many years. He knew it was true, people tended to want to believe the worst before anything else. They'd believe it without any help. Believing in the good in someone was the hard part.

"Where are we going?" At least she sounded contrite now.

She didn't like his answer, but he wasn't in the mood to explain his actions. He'd done enough of that. The relief of just having her back was irritating him. He shouldn't have gotten so worked up in the first place. He didn't need…

Didn't need…but… he still wanted her.

"We off to help Don hide the body?" Her giddy, conspiratorial tone was naïve. It made him smile. He knew she wouldn't really want Jack dead; she was just trying to get him to laugh at her.

He told her, just to see how she reacted, how you'd really do it if you were serious.

She almost laughed. She didn't like killing, but she would do what had to be done, he could see the cogs ticking inside her head.

"So, where is she?"

What he told her was mostly the truth. He only suspected the coincidental use of an old familiar name was Jack's plea to him.

"Liar," she smiled, amused rather than mad, at his evasion.

He didn't take offense to that word, from her. From anyone else it would have pissed him off, for daring to think they knew him. She wouldn't press him for more than he was willing to say, but she wouldn't pretend to be fooled.

They walked on companionably, not rushing, not looking suspicious. Zemma reached for his hand, pulled her arm from his grip and laced her arm through his. Now that they walked like lovers, Riddick felt more conspicuous. He tried to stay focused on their whereabouts, on the addresses, on their course, while Zemma looked around interestedly.

No doubt memorizing where they were and where they were going. He wouldn't pretend to be fooled by her either.

The tunnel lights were all being dimmed slightly, to conserve power and indicate local time. Even people who lived underground wanted their sense of day and night. No doubt the living space on the other side of the moon was being just as slowly brightened.

Riddick halted their progress. The next red-light business should match the address of "Red's Fine Entertainment". Riddick hated moon base architecture. It was all façade; everything being air lockable and pressure stable, there would be no real windows, no unattended back door. But there might be any number of tunnel egresses going deeper into rock and making the size of a place unpredictable as hell. Everything would be electronically controlled with physical back up mechanisms that could be dogged by hand.

At least ships had access panels and crawl spaces that could be opened with the right tool. Not drilling equipment.

"You think she's in there?" It didn't sound like a question, but a request to tell her something useful.

Probably.

"Are we going in?" There was the real question.

I will. Later.

"Nuh-uh. I owe her the kick in the head before you cycle her out the nearest lock."

She was trying to keep it light, but Riddick could hear the stubbornness. He tried to distract her, pretending to be offended.

"I wouldn't want you to."

That didn't tell him if she thought the worst of him. He looked at her to see if he was missing something. How did she really see him? Did she really believe he could kill Jack?

He still didn't understand why _she_ was protecting Jack from _him_. At first, Riddick had dismissed Zemma's unconsciously maternal reaction to Jack as hormones from the…

"I don't know why I like her." Zemma wasn't looking at the 'building', or him, anymore, but inside herself. Riddick wasn't gaining anything by his surveillance, but at least she wasn't insisting on going in. He took her arm back, like a lover, and led them away.

"She's not evil." Zemma frowned, trying to put something important into words as simply as possible. "She's out of control and self-destructive, but she's not evil."

Not just _self_-destructive. "She tried to kill you once." And, she killed something of _mine_.

"Fear, not malice." Zemma was unquestionably forgiving of the rationale, if not the action. They had barely spoken of it, but she'd seemed relieved not to be pregnant. It might not bother her as much as it had him. If she didn't want his baby, then he hardly had any excuse to make an issue of it. He nodded more to himself, than to her. It was the right thing, not to make too much of it. If she didn't feel the same way, she shouldn't know how much it hurt him.

"She's been acting strange just lately. Have you asked her why?"

Riddick didn't respond. He'd asked Jack just about everything.

"You've been talking to her privately so much lately, but you didn't ask her what was actually on her mind?"

Riddick threw her a glance that said, "Yeah, so?"

He'd been trying to reach her. Trying to find that little girl he knew once and make it fit with the young enigmatic woman he saw now. The more he asked, the less she said. There was no reason to think she'd answer the hard questions. He'd just tried to put her at ease, let her know he wouldn't sell her out. That he was here for her now, even though he wasn't five years ago. He was a different person now.

He tried to tell her he'd take care of her now.

She'd closed down to him completely. Pulled away from him completely.

"She was just trying to run away."

He saw that. He didn't understand it, after all her complaining that he was never there when she needed him… that now she didn't seem to need him.

Jack was an adult now. She'd been making her own decisions and living with the consequences for longer than he really knew. If their friendship was really that distasteful now, if all she really wanted was to punish him and move on, then he'd let her move on. But she wasn't going to continue punishing him through Zemma.

"Are we gonna eat, before we go bring her back?"

Zemma's mouth formed into a thin, stubborn line at his answer. She was planning something; to go get Jack and bring her back? Probably. Maybe that maternal thing hadn't worn off.


	21. Godspeed

**21. Godspeed**

Riddick walked the streets alone. He hated thinking about what he had to do. It wouldn't stop him, of course. He always followed through on his decisions and never looked back. Usually though, he had no second thoughts.

This was different. This was a kid. He'd have to live with this for the rest of his life.

He'd killed tyrants and presidents, clergymen and scientist, CEOs and derelicts...

…Never a kid.

He was an executioner, but he had his own rules. Probably no one who knew him would believe it. He gave the impression of a cold-blooded killer. He was fine with that. He wasn't comfortable letting anyone in enough to see otherwise.

When he got back he was gonna…

It was sinking in very slowly that he could never really go back. Not after this. What he was going to do would change his life forever. There would never be any going back. He kept saying it, but he wasn't hearing it. No friends, such as he had. No easy meals. No easy sex. He'd be alone. After almost his whole life in prison, sharing everything, that wasn't the worst idea to him.

He remembered the psych questions. He'd clearly and consistently marked those that involved kids 'no.' He'd even underlined it a few times. His handlers had respected that. They had plenty enough death to deal for everyone's tastes.

Kill a kid? It was against his own peculiar brand of ethics. Now, he would have to disappear. He could do that. He'd been trained to do that. He was good at it. Life had gotten a little boring anyway. He'd paid his dues. It was time to be a free agent.

It was a shame though, to throw away everything he'd built.

All he needed was a head start. He could find what he needed to get by, he always did; all he really required was food to eat, a safe place to sleep, somebody warm and feminine to fuck now and then.

Then what? Riddick walked and thought about his future. It was a strange sensation. Get a job? Grow out his hair? Hide for the rest of his life until somebody tracked his ass down and took him out? That part probably wasn't much different a future than where his life was leading him now.

None of it mattered. The future didn't matter. He'd just survive it like he always had.

He tried to work the problem, search for the solution, but he was pissed and that kept getting in his way. He never liked to let himself get angry because it would consume him, lead to brash behavior. He could make quick decisions only when his mind was free of troublesome little quirks like anger and guilt.

Okay. Why was he angry? Because They had asked him to do something he'd always been clear he would not do. So why ask him now?

WHO had asked him?

Riddick thought about the letter Carmen had shown him in the book. To eyes outside the Family the message seemed to offer condolences for the death of a beloved uncle and the bequeathed book as part of the estate. To Carmen, and Riddick, the code was easily read; it said a power struggle amongst the higher ups had changed the nature of her assignment; she was now in danger. The letter clearly said run, hide, and wait for future contact only from one Uncle.

The same one who had sent him.

HE was the message to Carmen. She was still in danger, but not from him. Someone in the Family still wanted the package destroyed. The Old Man had known Riddick wouldn't kill a child.

Before her actions were fully understood, before her contacts dried up as she was labeled a rogue, Carmen had inquired up the line about the nature of her package. She knew she was to deliver a live embryo to a powerful system ruler and his wife. She had been shocked to discover it wasn't in the heavily armored briefcase but in her belly, and that the secret wasn't his infertility.

Two babies were to be born to the mega-tyrant. Only one would be announced to the world, and promised in marriage to a neighboring tyrant's baby son. A long, and financially distressing, war would finally be ended. The dictators would spend the next 20 years consolidating their assets into full partnerships. Together they would become the most powerful political conglomerate the universe had ever seen…

Except for the matter of the other baby girl. Genetic twins by nature, genetic weapon by design, one girl would spread a terrible plague, the other would produce its only antidote. One girl would be doted on and loved, the other raised in quiet anonymity for her future role as an assassin of an entire political body.

How badly the plague might ravage the other system was apparently of no concern. Everything could be rebuilt on the backs of their own captive populace. The last despot standing would win all. Obviously the twin responsible would not be allowed to live, but they wouldn't lose their own precious daughter, just a genetic copy created for a specific purpose - not a _real_ person.

Carmen didn't know what had changed, or why. Perhaps the other ruler had gotten wind of the plot and offered a better financial settlement for the Family. Perhaps some other politico had designs that would be undermined by this one. Maybe there was a simple disagreement about the exploitation of the Family's resources. Certainly Carmen and the other 'mule' (brood mare, now) would not have made if off the planet alive after being held against their will for 9 months.

So when she was told to run, she did: fast, long and far. She never had time or clearance to find out which child she carried. With the sudden appearance of Riddick, Carmen thought she knew the answer. Uncle had told her to wait for a message from only him. Uncle must think she had the girl who could cure, not kill.

Carmen was ready to run again. She was always ready; Family training hadn't faded from her. She told him she would be gone by morning; all he had to do was walk away. She knew what to do. If he would just cover her back that long, maybe he wouldn't be faulted when his target disappeared from his sights. She was more than just an average mark.

Riddick felt his anger drain away, his thinking became crystal clear.

He was more than just the average assassin. They wouldn't believe she could have just slipped his noose. They would know he had let her get away. They would ask why. Eventually they would ask a more dangerous question… 'How' would lead to 'who', and the one man who was trying to do the right thing, in a business full of wrong things, would be found out. Who and what that man knew would be found out. Everyone would be eliminated; loose ends and lives clipped short.

He could cover her back for a little while... then he'd have to cover his tracks. It was the only way to cover the fingerprints of the Uncle. It meant painting a target on his own ass, but what choice did he have? What choice?

He'd walked for an hour in the darkness. Carmen should be gone by now. He needed to keep up pretenses for just about 12 hours, maybe 24. He needed to check in with the Family at least once in that time frame, he needed to lie to Them. That was okay, They had taught him how to do that too. Keep it simple.

He also needed a little information. He needed to know what this Uncle expected of him.

Riddick stood opposite Carmen's apartment in his usual place. He never slept much, which made surveillance easier. He stood looking at the dark, and he hoped empty, apartment as if it was his whole world. They might have someone watching _him_. Certainly they'd had someone on her before he got there; someone who'd found her before he caught the assignment.

Was that agent still here? Riddick hadn't noticed, but he hadn't been looking. Carmen hadn't mentioned it, and she was always looking. Still, it was better to assume he was being watched watching her. Riddick would stick to routine. Later he would contact the Family and ask again about the nature of his target of acquisition. At least he understood now why the Old Man had been so ambiguous about it.

A movement caught his eye. Riddick melted further into the blackness around him and focused on the shadow leaving the building he was watching. Carmen must be leaving later than he thought. But the shadow was too large to be a woman, even if she were hiding the child. Riddick watched the recognizably stealthy movements of a hulking masculine body.

Assassin.

He couldn't tell who, if it was even someone from the Family, only that no man naturally moved like that. It had to be taught, and only for one reason. Riddick followed at a distance, his mutant eyes giving him the advantage in the dark.

The man moved slowly, Riddick sensed, more that saw, the tiny limp in the hired-gun's slightly stilted pace. Carmen should be gone, how had he been hurt? Kicking the door in? Or had Carmen left a booby-trap? That idea made him smile a little.

The would-be killer entered another run-down apartment. Riddick waited outside for evidence of which flat the man used. After an expected interval, a light went on. Another advantage of his mutant eyes, he never evidenced to the outside world what room he might be in. Riddick watched and waited. After awhile the lights went out, but the assassin didn't emerge. Riddick waited a little longer until he was sure the man was in for the night, then doubled back to Carmen's apartment to see what nasty surprise she had left.

It was Riddick who was in for a nasty surprise.

He found Carmen still there. She was dead. The formerly tidy apartment was wrecked. There was no sign of the child. Riddick cursed and kicked over the little nightstand that had formerly held the book and its telltale letter. He looked down at Carmen's dead face and felt anger rise up in him again. Sloppy. She'd died slowly and badly.

The bastard would pay.

He noticed the smell before he found the evidence of Carmen's retaliation. She'd blooded him. Good for her. He'd finish it for her.

He was too pissed to think about what he'd do with her kid afterwards. As it was, he never had the opportunity to decide.

The killer's apartment was on the second floor, the windows less secure than the door because of it. Sloppy, again. The man inside should have realized the door would be the last option. Riddick climbed the outside of the building as easily as he had already climbed the stairs inside to verify the man was still where he wanted him. Riddick quietly let himself in and looked around.

Bandages and blood at the kitchenette table, a half drunk beer, and Carmen's little gun, were all the evidence he needed to prove he was in the right place. Soft snoring led him to his victim. In the darkness Riddick looked carefully at the face of the sleeping man.

Faces were tricky with his mutant eyes, he couldn't see features very clearly, but had learned to recognize members of his Family by the combinations of shapes and planes that made up each individual, as well as their personal body movements and voice patterns. He vaguely remembered a long ago time when it hadn't been that way. But he seldom thought about it anymore. In the long run it made him much more observant. Common disguises were useless against his perceptiveness.

This man he knew. This man he had never liked. This man would pay for his sloppy murder, for stepping on Riddick's toes, for just being an arrogant prick when Riddick was mad enough to kill for the pleasure of it.

Riddick picked up the gun on the bedside table and tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back. He wouldn't use it; he almost never used guns, and never when he wanted to feel the death he was dealing. Carefully, quietly, he looked for other weapons in the room and liberated them from their hiding places, stashing them about his body. When he felt he had all but the predictable pistol under the pillow, Riddick was ready to confront the snoring soon-to-be corpse.

He was calmer now; he would be careful, systematic. The latent anger was still there. This man would still die, but he was in control of himself. He hunkered down to the sleeper's face-level, his hand poised.

"Wakey, wakey…" he whispered in his cold, gravelly voice.

The reaction was instant. If Riddick hadn't been absolutely silent before, this was the response he could have expected. However, Riddick was cool, fast and experienced; his hand snaked under the pillow before the sleeper's and stole the last weapon hidden there.

"Nuh-uh! None of that for you. You've done enough damage for one night." He spoke slowly and coldly; letting his words, and more importantly the recognition of his voice, sink in.

"What the fuck are YOU doing here?" The dead man asked.

"I was just gonna ask you that very same question." Anyone who didn't know him might have heard lightness and humor, his fellow assassin heard the danger.

"Same as you, man, I'm on the job."

"You're on MY job."

Still they hadn't moved. Riddick still crouched inches from the man's face; the man still lay still as stone on his pillow. It was as if two bulls stared at each other, knowing one twitch would send the other into a dangerous charge.

"I…I didn't know you were here, man," the man lied badly.

"Wrong answer. But let's move onto more important things. Why'd you kill the mule? She was never the target."

"She wouldn't give up the kid, man," this rang true, but made things less clear.

"What do you mean she wouldn't give her up? The kid was right there in the other room."

"No man, she was gone when I moved in, right after you left. I searched that whole place. Bitch wouldn't tell me where she was hiding her."

'Bitch' was the wrong word to use right then. Riddick wasn't in love with woman he'd been watching for the last few weeks, but she'd certainly earned his respect in the last few hours. The blow would have seemed impossibly fast to anyone watching, and was invisible to the target in the pitch-dark room. The results were predictable. The man was knocked off the bed, but bounced up like the professional he was trained to be.

It didn't matter. The fight was brief, the man at a serious disadvantage in the dark, and against a superior fighter, a superior human.

Riddick didn't learn any more as he released the animal within to wreak payback. That didn't matter either. He was committed to action. He was without guilt. He was in the Now.

It was much later, when he came to his senses enough to wonder why the kid was already gone. Had Carmen already sent her away? Riddick searched the apartment and the building unsuccessfully. He never found a trace of the child whose real name he'd never learned.

His last communication with the Family was equally uninformative. When he finally reached the Old Man he had time to say only, "This is Riddick. Carmen's dead, the girl is gone." Before getting the last word he would ever get from Them. It was as if his actions were already known, though no one could have communicated the incident so quickly. Perhaps the results were merely predicted, his plight understood, his actions expected. Riddick didn't think about it, he merely kicked into high gear, that one word sending him into a survival mode that would last most of the rest of his life.

"Godspeed."

7


	22. Uncompromising

**22. Uncompromising**

"I can't figure it out." Zemma told Riddick as they approached the ship.

They'd been walking quietly, engaged in their own thoughts. The dim halls of local time replaced by the bright and busy, unsleeping port.

"Figure what out?"

"How to stop you from going to Jack. I can't hit you over the head. Either it won't hurt you at all, or I might actually hurt you. I can't lock you up. I wouldn't even know where to begin to drug you."

Riddick chuckled. No. She couldn't stop him from doing anything he'd decided to do.

"Why do you want to stop me? Still don't trust me?"

Zemma heard something in that last part. Something she needed to pay attention to. Riddick wasn't going to give her the chance to follow up on it though, he went on quickly:

"Deak is gonna look at the tapes of the port sooner or later. He's gonna see Jack leaving this ship. He's gonna come looking. We gotta not be here. Jack has to make a choice. Maybe she did already."

"I don't want to leave without her," Zemma whispered as they entered the ship. She hadn't wanted to speak loud enough for Don to hear her, wherever he may be on the ship. It was unfortunate that he was waiting for them.

Don emanated disapproval. "Ship's ready. We can go now." He placed ever so light an emphasis on 'now'.

"Not without Jack." Zemma crossed her arms, her voice flat, and her gaze steady between the two men.

"Why?" This time it was Don's question, though slightly less a question and more a demand. His black eyes penetrated her, his whole bearing tightly controlled and slightly imposing.

Zemma wouldn't back down from the man she loved; she certainly wasn't going to back down from Don. But she didn't relish a confrontation with her former teacher either.

"We are not leaving without her." Zemma brushed past Don. Riddick stayed behind. Neither man spoke. Zemma spoke with her back to them. "She's ours."

"She obviously doesn't want to be here." Don voiced Riddick's opinion.

Zemma spoke over her shoulder, not looking at either of them. "How do you know what she wants? Ever talk to her?" She felt herself getting angry. She almost never got angry… for more than three seconds. "She's young. She's scared. She's always been alone." Zemma took a breath and let it out slowly, counting in her head. She knew how that sounded, now that she'd said it out loud. Zemma had been alone a long time too.

Apparently, Don caught it too. "She's not you."

Riddick was silent, but she didn't hear him leave.

"She deserves her chance." Zemma said more quietly. Her face felt hot.

"She's had more than one." Don retorted.

Zemma turned to face them both again, pleading a little. "She didn't try to kill me, she didn't even put me in danger… this time." Zemma knew she couldn't avoid Jack's first attack on her. She couldn't justify it, she could only… "I forgive her. Why can't…"

"You're not the only one she hurt." Riddick spoke calmly, leaning against the bulkhead, looking not at Zemma or Don but the deck. "She hasn't even asked for _my_ forgiveness."

Zemma caught her breath. That was totally unexpected. She had no refute for it. Hell, she hadn't even thought about it. The baby she'd lost wasn't solely her possession. She hadn't realized it meant anything to him. Maybe she should have, but she'd never seen it, and never could have guessed. Zemma felt tears want to come. She commanded them away.

"She didn't know," Zemma could only whisper to Riddick, Don's presence all but forgotten. "You weren't going to tell _me_. Does _she_ know, even now?" She tried not to let any bitterness creep into her voice. He'd had no right to keep it from her. She'd had to figure it out on her own. She'd had to deal with it on her own. She felt nauseous.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright… what's behind that yellow light?

Zemma pulled herself up as tall as she could. She commanded away the sickening vision that was creeping up from her dark subconscious. She spoke with the imperious authority she'd used on Vaako, "Bring her back, Riddick."

Bring her back.

Bring her back.

Zemma turned away from them, the shaking inside threatening to work its way out.

Riddick watched her go. Don watched Riddick. They didn't speak for some minutes, each examining their own motivations.

"Where is she?" Don came to his conclusion first. "I let her go. I shouldn't have. I'll fix that. It's my job." He looked past Riddick, down the dark hall where Zemma had quietly fled.

"She's your job." He grasped Riddick's shoulder at arm's length, looked him hard in the eye, then nodded briefly as if understanding had been reached.

"Red's." Riddick drew out the word slowly, quietly, as if he might take it back, might take the initiative, rather than handing it off to his Second.

"I'll find it." Don turned smartly, forgoing the urge to salute. "Be ready to lift. She'll probably be making a lot of noise." Don strode towards the door.

Riddick looked back down the dark hall. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.

Would have been easier to deal with Jack right now.

* * *

Jack enjoyed her power. She enjoyed the game. She played well, and she played to win. She didn't enjoy the men. They would have her body but her mind was still her own. She retreated into it when it was time, and would rake in the money afterwards. The money would make up for it. 

She danced well in her costume. She'd played this bit before, she knew what she was selling. She enjoyed seeing herself, completely unrecognizable, rebroadcast on all the big screens. She walked confidently in the dark room, watching the men who watched her, deciding which would net her the best profit in the least amount of time. She was only a few hours into her shift and she'd made her nut. Everything now was profit.

Some of the other girls were already jealous. Jack didn't care. She simply had the advantage of a very specialized clientele. She would find herself a sympathetic shoulder to lay her head on later. She had her eye on the busty little brunette…

Red was walking the floor as well, keeping an eye on her new prize. Jack was sure to always be as deferential and submissive as possible around the boss. THAT might be a very comfortable shoulder to lie down with if she played her cards right. Sometimes just staying below the radar was less important than getting in the right bed.

Red looked at her palm-com when it buzzed and made a beeline to Jack.

"Another client," the boss beamed her cobra smile. "You're doing well."

Jack dropped her eyes, "Thank You, Ma'am," she responded in character.

"I want you to see me tonight after your shift. Playroom, now."

Jack grinned but kept it to herself. She nodded once and headed for the stairs. She'd spent most of the night in and out of the Playroom.

It was dark in the room this time. At first she thought the client must have made a reservation and not arrived yet. So when a hand landed firmly on her arm, Jack screamed a little. It was in character so she wasn't embarrassed, she just went on playing her part.

"Who's there?" She spoke in a whispered falsetto.

"Not your 'Daddy'," Don whispered back.

Jack froze. He already had a hold of her, if she couldn't reach the panic button all she had to do was call out the safe-word and the house bouncer would be here in seconds. She kept her calm. She was in her element now, she knew she had the advantage. He couldn't remove her, he wouldn't dare hurt her, she was okay.

"Ohhh, I dunno," she purred. "You might like it."

Wait… wait and watch… take advantage of 'whatever.' It was practically her mantra. It kept her composed during the times she wasn't in command of her situation. Control would come when the advantage was hers. She could wait for it.

"If you're done, it's time to go." Don ignored Jack innuendo, as well as her body rubbing against him.

"But, we just started…" Jack twisted in Don grip to face him, ignoring the pain it caused. She curled her free arm behind his neck and ground her hips against him. "You've already paid for an hour…"

Don's free hand covered her whole face. He pushed her to the ground in disgust.

Jack laughed. She had power over him here.

"Zemma wants you to come back." He said it so flatly, with so much coldness, that Jack knew it wasn't a lie.

For two seconds she felt her determination slip. She'd half expected Riddick to find her. She knew she would handle him if he did. She never anticipated Don. She didn't expect Zemma to send him.

"Why?"

Don settled with his back against the door. "I don't know." He sounded tired, irritated.

"Well, that's just not good enough," she sneered from the floor. Jack could tell he didn't want to succeed. She didn't think it would take much to encourage him to leave without her. "You just come down here because she said so?"

Jack sensed more than saw Don hunch down to her level, as if he might appeal to her. She heard him sigh deeply in the darkness. "Just tell me how it's gonna be, girl. Easy or hard? I don't care which…" He barked a quiet little laugh. "That's not true. I really want this to go hard. The harder the better."

Jack could hear the cold, uncompromising truth in that too. He didn't like her, didn't want her, but he was here to bring her back. For Zemma? It didn't matter. These places were fortresses. Jack didn't need to leave if she didn't want to. She didn't think too hard about the fact that she might not be able to leave even if she did want to.

"All I have to do is say one word and you'll be up to your armpits in mindless muscle." Jack wasn't bluffing.

"That won't be boring." Don wasn't bluffing either. Jack could hear the smile in his voice. She was starting to get nervous. This guy was a lot like Riddick, tall and powerfully built, even for an old man. She pictured the mayhem Riddick could create amongst mere mortals. She pictured Don's black soulless eyes.

Don might enjoy murder even more than Riddick.

"I can't leave." It was a simple reality. She'd sold her soul, and while her nightly nut was already made, she was a long way off from buying it back. These places didn't like giving up easy money. That's all she was to them, easy money.

Zemma wanted her back?

"Does that mean I don't have to worry about you resisting?" He sounded almost disappointed.

"I don't matter," Jack muttered. She thought she hid the painful certainty of that in her own heart with mockery. She didn't matter here. She only mattered to certain people, and then not really. Just her DNA mattered, not herself. She thought she'd hidden that conviction in dark sarcasm; she would have been surprised to know Don heard her plainly, and felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the girl.

"Just follow me out. Don't stop, but don't run. Head straight for the ship, when we get clear. I'll be right behind you." His voice was calm, no-nonsense, and almost kind. She felt his hand on her arm again, but this time he was pulling her up. "Let's go."

Jack let herself be led downstairs.

Red wandered little circles in the middle of the large room, watching her patrons and her girls simultaneously, tapping away on her little palm-com, and tallying her profits. She raised an eyebrow at Jack's descent, but seemed not to be paying attention to Don walking sedately towards the door. Jack smiled and nodded, as if all were well, a fast trick meant more return.

Don walked towards the door, not looking back. Jack sauntered past the bar, not watching his back, and trying not to look around suspiciously. She needed to be close enough to make the break when he created a hole… or to not look like a part of the fray if he failed to.

Don stopped at the inside of the door, turned slightly and made eye contact with Jack momentarily before leaning into the doorman as if to ask a question. The attack was swift and silent, Don clipped the bulky man under the chin and eased the now unconscious man back onto his stool. No one noticed… except Red; her eyes flew wide and her fingers tapped furiously.

Jack made her break for it. Bodyguards would be converging in seconds, she needed to be way the fuck gone before them. She bolted just as Don pushed open the door, dodged under the arm of the doorman outside, and ran hard. She heard Don and the doorman clash but didn't look back to see the results, she headed for the ramp up.

Before a minute had passed Don caught up with her. He grabbed her arm to slow her to a walk. He evidenced no obvious harm, but his normally dour countenance was replaced with a nearly delighted glint in his eye and a grim smile.

"Don't run. But keep up, or I'll carry you," he said as he strode purposefully towards the dock.

"Won't they follow us?" Jack looked back nervously.

"We can only hope," he turned a toothy smile her way.

Yes, Don might enjoy murder even more than Riddick.


	23. Cursed

**23. Cursed**

Riddick went first to the pilot's deck. Their flight plan was entered and approved, the engines were warm, they could leave any time. He double-checked everything. Then triple checked. He knew he was wasting time. He knew he was avoiding Zemma. Still, he didn't get up to go to her.

Carolyn crossed his mind. Carolyn had cursed him. He'd been fine before Carolyn.

She'd been a little bit vulnerable, a little bit corrupt, a little bit broken. He'd liked that. She'd been straight with him, even when she was scared. He'd liked that too. Most people got less honest when they were afraid for their lives, afraid of _him_ for their lives. She hadn't tried to manipulate him with feminine wiles, either. He would have liked to have gotten to know her better.

But she cursed him. And then, she died.

That led him to Jack: the scared little girl who looked up to him, thought him a hero. The scared little girl that Fry said she would die for.

But, in the end, Fry died for _him_, didn't she. She said she wouldn't, but she did anyway. It was so ironic, a real gut tickler from the Man Above, he should have laughed.

But she had already cursed him.

She cursed him… to care.

That led him to Imam: the man who was almost a friend. Only almost. The man who cared too much, and lost everything. He put it all in Riddick's hands, and died. Another ultimate joke from the Celestial Sadist.

Imam had cursed him, too. So, Riddick had run off to save the little girl he knew, and discovered a wholly unknown factor in Kyra. It had hurt him when she'd died, thinking she was Jack.

That brought him back to Zemma… he'd never intended to care.

But Carolyn had cursed him.

Now, Jack, back in his life, feeling like the Jack he knew, the one he cared about.

Damn Carolyn.

Zemma cared about the girl too, and couldn't explain why. Maybe it was just because she was feeling maternal, maybe because she'd seen his reaction to the death of the false Jack.

She cared so much she'd done something she'd never done, and he'd never expected. She ordered him to get Jack back. Ordered, not asked. Ordered, in front of Don. Ordered, and walked away.

Anger threatened. He suppressed it.

He looked at his chrono. Twenty minutes had passed. Don would be at least an hour.

Don: another man who was almost a friend.

Maybe, after this, Don wasn't just 'almost.' The thought was quiet, boiling up to the surface unbidden. Riddick might have ignored it another time. Instead, he reviewed the scene critically. Don had been clear about his feelings for Jack. Clearly, he respected Riddick.

'She's your job.'

There had been no sneer, no contempt. He didn't seem embarrassed to have witnessed a moment that should have been private. He'd seemed… to care.

Riddick kicked the control panel in front of him and got up.

Damn it, Carolyn.

* * *

Zemma sat in the dark, on the floor against a wall, waiting for Riddick to barge in, for the inevitable argument. She felt bad. She felt bad that she'd been rude. She'd never disagreed with him in front of anyone; she'd never showed such open disrespect. She'd been raised better than that. She respected Riddick more than that.

She put her head on her knees. Her face burned, her stomach rolled, and her head hurt.

She didn't know how to deal with the situation she created. She didn't even know why she'd gotten so upset, been so adamant. Everything was so much more complicated now. Her stomach did another slow roll. She struggled to blank her mind completely.

She registered the door opening but didn't react to it. She waited.

"Why are you trying so hard? What could she possibly mean to you?" His voice wasn't angry like she expected. It was quiet, intense, not to be balked… but not angry.

Zemma didn't know what she was going to say. She didn't know why she felt so protective of Jack. She lifted her head to speak to the darkness, not twitching up her lenses to see him.

"She's something of yours," she started out lamely. And that was true. Jack had been important to Riddick in some way and Zemma didn't want to be held responsible for losing that.

…Losing that too…

Unbidden tears threatened again. Riddick noticed, even in the dark. He always noticed. It galled her. He hunkered down in front of her. His hand went to her cheek, his thumb stroked there as if wiping away what hadn't yet fallen. Zemma clenched her teeth and thought of her father in order to regain her self control.

"Something of mine?" He asked her softly.

Zemma shook her head, pulling away from his hand, and closed her eyes against what she might see in the planes of his face. This wasn't about that. This was supposed to be about Jack.

"Zemma?"

"She just needs someone to help her," Zemma started again. "She's been so alone. She's so afraid of something. And, I can see how much you really don't want to lose her."

…Lose her…too…

Zemma was feeling nauseous again. Intense self-control was starting to make her shake. She tried to pull away from where Riddick crouched in front of her.

"Zemma," Riddick started patiently. "She's an adult. You can't be her mother."

Blue skies flooded the inner landscape behind Zemma's closed eyes. Round, green hills and a perfectly round sun, not so much like a real star but a bright yellow dinner plate, invaded her mind.

'Do you see it?' A phantom voice.

"Zemma?" The voice seemed far away.

I see it now. It's beautiful.

She didn't understand who was speaking these words. She didn't understand what she was seeing or why. She tried to turn her head, open her eyes, call out, anything to break the spell.

Mother?

Mother? Where are you?

Why wouldn't her mother answer her?

"Zemma? You with me?"

Whose voice? It was familiar.

Mother? I'm lost… Where are you?

Zemma began running through the barren green landscape. It never changed. The hills seemed to recede at the pace she ran. Everywhere she turned it was the same.

Mother!

She was all alone. Fear surged through her. She was all alone under this huge blue sky. She threw herself into the too green grass.

Falling!

"Zemma?"

Whose voice?

She was afraid to look around now. She was afraid to be so alone, so out in the open.

Where did the babies go? Her mother said they would be in heaven. So why was she alone? Her mother said heaven was beautiful. Zemma clutched the ground and tried not to throw up.

"Zemma!" Strong arms surrounded her. The landscape collapsed into blackness. Only the nausea remained.

"She's just a little girl," Zemma gasped against Riddick's shoulder. "She didn't know. I didn't know. Don't leave her behind because I lost the baby."

"Shhh…"

"Jack is still yours. Don't give up on her."

"Shhhhh…."

"Don't leave her behind. She still needs you."

"We won't."

"I'm sorry…" The threatened tears flowed. "There's no heaven, Riddick…" She couldn't say more, her throat choked on the words. The babies had never come. She was always just alone there. The babies were still dead. Her baby…

"Your mother hypnotized you, Zemma." Riddick's calm voice interrupted her thoughts. "Look at me." He put both hands to her face. "Come back. Look at me!" His voice was almost angry, demanding her attention away from sickening landscape that threatened whenever she closed her eyes.

"Lights!"

Zemma cringed in the brightness, but closing her eyes brought fresh terror in blue, green and yellow. She blanked her mind.

"Look at me."

Tiger, Tiger… burning bright.

Zemma did try to look at him for a moment. The concern on his face made her shut her eyes again, just to keep control.

Keep control.

Tiger, Tiger…

…Burning bright…

'Do you see it? Burning bright?'

"I don't want to see it anymore, Mother."

"Zemma…"

Zemma went away.

Fuck!

Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing him.

"I don't want to see it anymore, Mother."

Not Min's voice, but the little girl from Zemma's nightmares, speaking Furyan very softly, begging quietly. She didn't respond to him. Her eyes were still open, but he could see she had gone away: like she had at New Mecca, like she had on that last nameless planet.

"Fuck!"

He let the anger wash over him this time. He punched the wall behind her head. She never blinked. All this time he'd been worried that Min was Zemma's retreat from stress. This was worse. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. No reaction. Her mother had done some job on her.

The only thing he couldn't understand was how she remembered the incident before without issue.

'Don't leave her behind because _I_ lost the baby.'

The anger washed away. His thinking cleared. Sometimes we don't get to pick who we'll die for, or who will die for us. Thank you, Carolyn.

It wasn't just about going outside. It wasn't just about Jack. It was all of it, and…

Riddick took a deep breath and stood up. He looked down at Zemma without his lenses. She was still frozen in whatever world her mother had created to make her forget. He knew what it was she'd seen, and why it was disturbing her so much now. The old program was kicking in because she needed it again, to help her deal with the pain of…

Death… loss… fear… abandonment… The miscarriage. Jack.

He'd thought she'd been relieved to not be pregnant with his kid. Riddick squatted down in front of Zemma's unseeing eyes again.

"I'm sorry, Zem. I didn't get it."

She didn't blink. Her eyes looked glassy, her face flushed.

Riddick pulled her to him to pick her up and put her in bed, she felt hot to the touch. The movement caused her to scream, and she flung her arms about, reminiscent of her first foray planet side; she thought she was falling. He laid her down on the bed where she quieted again, but didn't seem any more conscious. He checked his chrono. Don would be back soon. He headed for the pilot's deck.

* * *

Zemma felt herself falling. She heard screaming. She didn't know it was her own voice. She thought it was the death cry of her mother. When the darkness finally stopped spinning her about, her mind finally quieted, and she stopped thinking at all. Sleep eventually overtook her.

* * *

Jack kept looking back over her shoulder as she followed Don. Her impulse, like so many other impulses, seemed hasty now. She'd left her clothes, her stash of loot, her best chance to escape Riddick's domineering attention.

She'd only ever seen one man move so swiftly and surely before. Don's resemblance to Riddick, an older, stonier Riddick, had been even more evident during the break for the door of Red's. She thought back to the first time she saw Riddick in five years. Surrounded by men with the same silver blue eyes and fighting like devils. Were they related? Zemma had shown her 'blue lenses' too. Jack was only just now realizing she was in with a race of people a step above mere mortals. A race of Riddicks.

For a moment she felt an intense sense of relief. For a moment she thought she might be safe with these people… safe from Them. Safe from Hypatia, who always seemed to find her, eventually, no matter where she landed. For a moment she felt an intense sense of gratitude.

It wouldn't last, of course. Jack wasn't conditioned for gratitude. Jack wasn't comfortable with gratefulness, and had little to no sense of companionship. Jack feared closeness nearly as much as the others in the crew, but had much less practice dealing with it. Her mouth was her only defense against these unfamiliar feelings.

She would take a few more kicks to the head before she felt at ease with the camaraderie of this team. A few more kicks, before it would be ripped away from her.

Don kept looking back over his shoulder. His face, as always, grim, but not hostile. He wasn't glad to have her along, but no doubt glad he didn't have to carry her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming.

Jack sighed and hastened to catch up to Don. She thought she saw someone back there. It had to be her imagination, though.

It wasn't.

The Celestial Sadist had too terrible a sense of humor for that.


	24. On The Table

**24. On The Table**

Riddick watched Jack follow Don across the bay. He didn't spare a moment to wonder how Don had managed to bring her without any outward protest, or about her outfit. He simply updated the flight plan to put them in the take-off queue. In minutes they were undocked and on the hook. With anti-grav he could have lifted straight up from the dock, but he let the system pull them clear before he engaged the engines.

When Don took his place in the co-pilot's chair, Riddick didn't comment. Jack didn't accompany him. That suited. Riddick set their course, and watched the proximity radar for any small craft pursuit. There was none.

"Did she say anything?" He finally asked Don.

"No. She's in her cabin." Don replied.

Riddick only nodded. If Don wanted to ask about Zemma he made no indication of it, opting instead to change the subject.

"I'll take first watch. I set up some new security protocols. I want to test them out while we're in system. Won't take long."

Riddick nodded again, and rose to leave. "Page Jack. I want to see her in my cabin in an hour." He left without waiting to see Don nod.

Zemma's position hadn't changed since he left, but he could see some changes none-the-less. Her eyes were closed in sleep, her face was pale and sweaty, her cheeks flushed with fever. He laid a hand on her forehead; she was burning up.

Part of the hypnosis? Like any soldier meant to spend time planet-side, she'd been inoculated against most common diseases. Riddick stripped off her boots and clothes, looking closely for any sign of red blotches or raised bumps.

He didn't find any. She was just soaked with sweat, and starting to shiver in her sleep. He wrapped her in blankets and turned up the heat, before heading to the med-lab. He found what he was looking for; a little diagnosis tool, it shot a few specialized nanos into the system, then read the evaluation of white blood and viral count.

The plague wouldn't register, of course. Everything else would.

The room was too warm for him when he returned, but Zemma still shivered in her sleep. He ran the needle into her arm briefly, and went to take a shower. There still weren't any lesions, so he didn't let himself worry. Still dripping water, he returned and ran the reader from her wrist to shoulder.

High viral count, high antibody count… 'port cough'. Relief washed over him. He dried and dressed, foregoing a shirt in the too warm room. She would have come down with the fever in a few days, stress just lowered her resistance, so it hit her fast. There still wasn't a cure for the common cold, or flu.

Riddick sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her shopping bag. It felt light. He pulled out the little black dress, and it came out unwrinkled. It looked like it might hit her mid-thigh. It bunched at the waist, and had small off the shoulder sleeves. Crisscrossing spaghetti straps ran up to a throat strap. It was simple, without gaudy adornments.

The door chimed softly.

"Come in."

His voice unlocked the door, and Jack pushed it open slowly. She was dressed again in her usual black on black, instead of the costume she'd worn from Red's.

"I don't think that's your size," she quipped quietly, not sure how he would take joking right now.

Riddick only nodded without looking at her. "Close the door. I wanna talk to you." He dropped the dress on the bed beside him. Elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, he looked down into the now empty bag at his feet.

Jack slid in, and shut the door with a soft click, but didn't approach. She looked briefly at Zemma sleeping but stayed focused on Riddick. "Wore her out already?" She tried a grin.

"She's sick."

Jack froze. With his lenses down in the lighted room, Riddick could see the fear on Jack's face from the corner of his eye.

Yes, something scared her more than him.

"It's just the flu."

"Your sure?"

"It's not the plague."

"But, how do you know?" Her voice was very small, her body pressed against the door.

"I've seen that plague. It's a measles strain, exclusive to Earth. Extinct there, except in a few labs. Unknown to the universe at large."

"But, how do you KNOW?"

She wasn't listening.

"Because," Riddick let his voice raise a little. "The plague came from the same damn place YOU came from." He looked her in the eye. That got her attention.

"How do you know all this, Riddick?"

"Same damn place I came from," he looked back down at the empty bag and wanted to laugh.

He could tell she wanted to keep asking the same question over and over again: How did he KNOW? He decided to skip ahead.

"Your mother had a book, the same story you told me five years ago. Man in the Iron Mask."

Jack nodded but didn't come any closer.

"There was a letter in it."

Jack nodded again. It had been a long time since she'd seen either, but they were always clear in her mind when she wanted to look for them there.

"Did she tell you who you were?"

"No."

"I was sent to kill you." He let that sink in. Jack didn't respond at all. "But instead, I killed the man who killed your mother."

Jack felt her heart pounding so hard she was afraid Riddick could hear it. Riddick was one of Them. Hypatia had warned her about Them…

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

"What happened to you after your mom was killed, Jack?"

"Hypatia happened."

Riddick frowned, not following.

"She said bad men killed my mom and were after me. She took me away." Jack didn't care to go on about the months that followed. She'd been so afraid the first time she went to slam. She thought slam was hell. It was just slam. She'd already escaped hell when she escaped that devil-woman.

"Hypatia doesn't sound like any Family name I knew."

"Family?"

"Where your mother came from. Where I came from. Where you come from. Where the plague came from. It all goes back to the Family and the highest bidder."

"And they sent you to kill me and her? Why? Hypatia said I was valuable."

"Someone sent me because he knew I _wouldn't_ kill you. I don't do kids. Someone else sent another assassin who got sloppy with your mother when she wouldn't give you up."

"I can still see her face sometimes," Jack whispered.

Riddick threw Jack a quick glance, but she was looking at her own feet.

"Her face was all bloated and purple. Her fingernails dug bloody holes around the cord, trying to get it off her neck."

Jack and Riddick were both looking in the past, but seeing different things. Riddick thought the image of Carmen's badly cut neck must be too much for Jack to remember clearly. He decided to change the subject. "Did you call yourself Carmen, back there, to get my attention?"

"Carmen? She was the last dancer that was my size." Jack shrugged one shoulder.

"That was your mother's name in the Family."

Jack shook her head, still looking at her feet, looking at her past. "My mother's name was Sarah."

Riddick shrugged. Would the woman use her real name, even to her daughter? "Do you ever think about Carolyn?" He sighed as if he wished he didn't.

"All the time."

"I was going to leave you on that planet."

Jack didn't say anything, she couldn't.

"She made me go back for you. She said she would die for you."

"Riddick…"

"You think I'm some big hero…" he took a short breath. "She said she wouldn't die for me… not for me… then she came. She died in my arms, coming back for me. Why did she do that?"

Jack didn't say anything at first. The silence was painful.

"But you did come back for us in the hole."

"I wasn't going to…"

"But you did," Jack raised her voice a little to interrupt him. "You did," she said softer. "That's why she went back for you. No matter what you were thinking before, it's what you did that matters."

"She shouldn't have."

"Does it matter now?"

"I don't know. I don't know… She won't leave me alone."

"You said Richard B. Riddick died somewhere on that planet."

"Yeah."

"So, why tell me, now?"

"I was gonna leave you here, too."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not your fucking hero. Because, you should be pissed at me… not her." He twitched his head in Zemma's direction.

"Look, just because she's your latest bint, doesn't put her up for saint-hood. Though putting up with you…" Jack did kinda like Zemma, but this was getting very heavy feeling, and she wanted out of the room.

"She was pregnant."

What? Was? Jack held her breath.

"She miscarried after you pushed her over the rail on the Basilica." Riddick didn't look at Jack, he was kicking the side of decorative paper bag with one bare toe.

"I…I…" Jack wanted out this room more than ever. Holy Hells. No wonder he'd been so pissed.

"You didn't know. She didn't know. I didn't know." Riddick went on. "Now you do."

"I'm sorry, Rid," Jack whispered. God was she ever sorry. Fuck. Riddick didn't look at her, but he nodded once.

"You decide you're done riding with us, you tell her goodbye, and leave like a real person. No fucking around. No sneaking away."

"Like you did?" Damn it. She didn't want to piss him off anymore today, but her mouth just wouldn't stay shut. She waited for his outburst.

Riddick sighed. "Neither one of us is an angel, Jack. Tell me, what the hell was I supposed to do? Don't tell me what you wanted when you were kid. Tell me now that you're all grown up and wise in the ways of this fucked-up universe. Could I have kept you alive with mercs on my neck all the time?" His voice was low, slow and cold.

"You could have stayed…" she started.

"I never lied to you. Don't lie to yourself."

Jack didn't answer. She'd fantasized so many times about how she thought it should have been. Her monster-slaying hero protecting her from all the badness that haunted her… then settling down to a home cooked meal at the end of the day.

Cooked by who? Her? Him? Could either of them even boil water without burning the salad? Jack laughed a little, drawing Riddick's look.

"I used to think about you and me sitting down to dinner every night, with flowers on the table." She didn't say that they held hands in her dream.

Riddick snorted, a little amused at the vision. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't." Jack grinned. "I can't remember eating anything that didn't come on a tray."

"Me either."

Riddick grinned a little, and Jack felt good to have caused it. She felt a little more at ease.

Riddick turned the empty bag over and shook it slightly. "What's wrong with this picture?"

Jack didn't track.

"You were out all day shopping, and all she bought was this dress…" he held it bunched in one hand before dropping it in the empty bag. "Why didn't you take her to get shoes too?"

"Shoes?" Jack thought he was kidding.

Riddick waved towards an open closet across the room. Few things hung there: A long silvery dress that sparked, a few shirts and cargo pants, those silky things Jaron liked to wear too…

"Ivory Tower, Jack. She didn't think about shoes, she doesn't own any that will go with this dress…"

Jack saw a single pair of silvery flats in the closet under the silver dress. A pair of deck shoes lay at the foot of the bed. A pair of boots peeked out from under a discarded crew jumper on the closet floor. Jack realized she was looking at the entirety of Zemma's wardrobe.

"I need you to watch out for her, Jack. Teach her how to function out here. On the Basilica they would have just sent the shoes to match the dress. It didn't occur to her to buy them."

Jack snorted, "She tried the dress on backwards…"

Riddick chortled a little and shook his head.

"I wasn't there for you, Jack." He didn't look at her, just at the bag. "Now, you don't need me anymore."

Jack thought about the shadow she thought might have followed her and Don from Red's.

"Will you look out for her for me, when I'm not there?" He looked at her, lenses down, in the bright light of the room. Barefoot, with a short growth of hair on his head and face, brown eyes instead of blue, hunched over his knees and looking at Jack sideways… he didn't look anything like the infamous Riddick she'd first met and idolized.

He just looked like a man.

"I need your help, Jack. I don't know if you realize how hard this is for me to ask."

He sounded just like any man.

Jack nodded silently.

"Did she…uh… really ask… for me to come back?" Jack found her voice a little.

"No." Riddick answered. "She demanded it." Riddick looked her in the eye. "And you are going to apologize."

"Why?"

Riddick cocked one eyebrow at her, a scowl started to form.

"I mean, why did she want me… back here?" Jack rushed out.

"She likes you, I guess." Riddick didn't make that sound impossible to understand. "She needs a friend. She picked you."

Jack snorted. It wasn't like there were a lot of choices.

"No fucking around, Jack." Riddick's voice held some of the old warning in it. "No more trouble. No more running away. You're not thirteen anymore."

"This, from the king of avoidance." She didn't mean to sneer, she just didn't know how NOT to.

"I deserve that… She doesn't." Riddick stood, picked up the bag and walked to the closet. He took out the dress and hung it there.

"Why'd you run?" He turned from the closet to face her again.

"I dunno." Jack crossed her arms and dug her toe into the carpet. "I was feeling, kinda… out of place. Seemed like time to go."

"Still feel like that?"

"Am I just here to keep your girlfriend company?"

"Stay to keep me company." He cocked his head sideways, challenging her.

"I dunno, Riddick…"

"I wouldn't have remembered shoes either." It was an olive branch.

Jack smiled. "Have I told you you're so full of shit your eyes are brown?"

Riddick smiled back.


	25. The Drinking Game

**25. The Drinking Game**

They had a truce, and maybe a little better understanding of each other. Zemma didn't appear to be going anywhere soon. If she was lucky, she would sleep through the worst of it.

"Hungry?" Riddick asked as he pulled on the rest of his clothes.

Jack shrugged.

"I haven't eaten." He'd bring back some tea for Zemma. He clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Come on."

Don was in the galley already; he nodded at their entrance. "Twelve days to the next port," he commented matter-of-factly.

Jack raised an eyebrow at Don's chattiness. "A lot of time to play cards," she ventured casually.

Don nodded but his expression never changed. Neither did Jack's. Good enough. They were both going to behave. He looked at the bottle, it might change things, it might not.

"I got some fresh-frozens to offset the rations," Riddick told them as he made tea.

Jack started nuking two frozen dinners. Riddick grabbed another shot glass. "Zemma's sick," he spoke towards Don. "Looks like port-cough, or maybe the flu." He didn't comment on the already empty bottle of whiskey sitting in the sink.

"Bound to happen," Don responded without slurring. "She was never cleansed, but everyone around her was." He poured a little more and offered the bottle to Riddick.

"All the Furyans avoid the cleansing?" Riddick looked pointedly at the scars on Don's neck. He'd never asked Don about his past, they'd kept to the Now. 'Now' seemed like as good a time as any if the man was feeling… talkative.

"Brands," Don told him. "Most of us, anyway. It didn't take long to see how the battle was going. We were taking out their troops on the battlefield, while they took out our cities and rounded up our civilians. Infiltration was the only way. We had to get on the ships to get close to our people."

Don swirled the amber liquid, looking into it as if seeking something there. Riddick wondered why he was volunteering so much now… Because Zemma had chastised him?

Jack put the two dinners on the table, and found a third glass. She didn't say anything but poured for herself. No one objected, no one offered a toast. Jack and Don eyed each other.

"What about you, Kid?" Don challenged her.

"What about me?" Jack's voice was more than challenging… she was always ready for a fight.

"You ever had to do something so heinous you could barely live with yourself… to try to save the people you loved?" Don slammed his shot glass to the table, spilling some.

"I don't have any people," Jack sneered the last word.

Don looked into Jack's face, squinting a little, either to blur her features or bring them into focus, it was hard to tell. He wasn't slurring, but he was obviously drunk. "Bullshit." He punctuated that by downing his shot.

Jack barked out a short laugh. "Bullshit, huh?" She downed her own glass and poured for them both. "Do tell," sarcasm dripped. She languished back in her chair, dinner forgotten, one arm over the back of it, one leg stretched out. She'd put as much distance between herself and Don as she could without actually moving.

Riddick decided to let this play out a bit… as long as they both stayed seated. He poured for himself.

"You don't know shit, Kid. You don't know shit about suffering. You don't know shit about sacrifice. You sure don't know shit about forgiveness."

"Fuck you. You don't know shit about _me_."

"Do tell," Don mocked her tone.

A brief sideways glace to him made Riddick wonder if Don was even as drunk as he appeared. Zemma said talk… she didn't say how. Riddick almost wanted to laugh out loud.

"You first," she threw back the challenge along with another drink.

"I watched cities flattened. I watched my people die, or walk into ships that would be their prison. I watched my best friend's wife surrender his entire household, thinking it would save lives." Don didn't appear to be faking his anger. "I watched them turned into the living dead." He shot down his drink and poured again. "Your turn."

"I found my mother… dead… when I was nine." She shot a glance at Riddick but didn't elaborate on his part in it. "I hid in a hole for six days. When my food ran out, I stayed another few days. When…" she paused briefly. "When the merc found me, I thought I was saved. She locked me in abandoned apartments, and used me for bait. She made me watch her kill people. She made me a part of it." Jack took her shot and slammed the glass on the table. Don poured for her.

"We sent spies into the Monger horde…" Don went again. "They were cleansed. We had to kill some of those, but some retained their sanity. We learned how to mimic the Mongers, and marched in like troops." Don examined his glass, as if looking for words. "A lot of our people were cleansed." Don looked sickened. "Pumped so full of those specialized nanos and drugs: they never felt pain, and never got sick, completely sterilized… their minds ruined. We killed a lot of our own people after that."

"How many did you save?" Riddick asked quietly, drinking more slowly.

"Out of millions?" Don snorted. "Barely enough to start over if we ever got free again; less than a hundred thousand. And thirty years later, we're down to under 20 thousand, with the ratio of men to women of child bearing years something like 40 to 1." Don took his drink, his turn over.

But Riddick wasn't done, he did the math, he had questions. "You took over almost one fifth of the Monger forces and didn't finish it then?"

"Our families were hostage, our forces scattered throughout the ships, hiding their identity even from each other in case someone was caught and cleansed." Don was defensive, angry, but didn't look directly at Riddick. "It took years to get organized, weed out the untrustworthy ones, start setting up an internal organization completely invisible to the Mongers while in their very midst."

"And along the way you destroyed whole planets with the rest of them?"

Don didn't answer. But Jack nodded as if she understood.

"Watch. Wait. Be ready for…whatever," she spoke quietly, not looking at either of the men.

This time Don nodded in understanding.

It wasn't Riddick's style. He never would have put up with 30 years of waiting, watching his people die off slowly.

His people?

Jack interrupted his thoughts. "That merc… she took me to a doctor. She wanted to find out about me. She's the one who told me I was a…" She didn't finish the idea out loud. Riddick could: runaway experiment. "I don't know if he was a real doctor. He hurt me. He had this funny smile when he did it. I know about suffering." She didn't elaborate further, but there weren't any hard rules to this game. She took her drink, ending her turn.

"Jaron's wife was a good woman, a strong woman. Spoke her mind, even to me." He paused, finishing the bottle, sans the glass. "He started spending every minute on the breeder ship, after you left, trying to find out about her. Trying to find anyone with Furyan blood still alive and whole. I couldn't watch it anymore."

"That's when you found…" Riddick ventured.

Don nodded. "I don't know who he was; a leader from one of the other continents, maybe. Important enough that they socked him away in cryo for thirty years, but didn't cleanse him." Don stood up from the table. He didn't say anything more, just walked from the galley into the emptiness of the frigate.

"What did he find?" Jack asked.

"Doesn't matter now." Riddick didn't care to share the nature of his conception, though it was something else they shared. They were both created; he just didn't know what his purpose was supposed to be.

"These people… they're your family? You were born there?" Jack tried to keep from slurring her words.

"No." Riddick wasn't sure how much more soul bearing he cared to do. He looked at Jack, trying to decide what she needed to know.

"I'm Furyan, but I was born on Earth. No one knows how I got there, or what happened to my mother. An old woman raised me… when I killed her I went to prison for the rest of my life." He waited for her to ask why he had killed the only 'mother' he'd ever known, but she didn't.

"The Family was a secret military organization. They bought my way out of prison and trained me to work for them. I didn't find out 'till later they were just highly organized mercs."

"When you were sent to kill me?" Jack frowned, trying to keep everything straight in her head.

Riddick nodded. He thought about Jack saying her mother was 'Sarah.' Most of them kept their real names in the Family, it was the only part of them left that they still owned. It was the only thing the Family didn't ask them to give up. It was easy to disavow an escaped convict. They'd certainly done a job on his record after he left. They'd even credited him with the massacre of a thousand troops during some war that had become too public.

Could Sarah have been the real name of Jack's mother? Jack remembered a cord around her mother's neck. Riddick clearly remembered Carmen's neck cut open. Two different women were sent; two were warned to disappear. Was Sarah the other mule? What did that make Jack? Did it matter?

Could he make contact with the Old Man one last time to find out?

"Who was Hypatia?" He asked her.

"Evil." Jack finished her glass as if toasting that word. She seemed reluctant to elaborate, but she wasn't leaving either. "After I escaped the first time, she always seemed able to find me again."

That wasn't a good sign.

"She was at the port when I got on the Hunter-G."

Riddick raised his eyebrows at this. "Did she make it on board?"

"No," Jack seemed sorry. "I wish she had…"

"But…." He drew the word out, trying to draw her out.

"I keep thinking I see her over my shoulder."

That wasn't past tense.

"When was the last time you thought you saw her, Jack?"

"Back there." Her voice was small, the admission difficult for her.

They'd only been docked one day. No one trying to follow Jack could have anticipated their landing. Hell, she'd been on that alien ship….

"How long were you prisoner on that merc ship?"

"I don't know."

Time was funny in space. Personal time varied from planet time as people traveled. It was something you just got used to, losing or gaining months or even years. You couldn't count cryo in your personal time; 'standards' were metric years of personal time and seldom related to the time that passed outside the ship you traveled on. Pilots didn't like to go back to ports because people aged too fast. Merchants tended to run long routes that never doubled back, or stayed in system.

If Jack spent most of her time on planet instead of in cryo, they should both be five years older than when he last saw her, give or take some months.

"When was the last time you saw her _for sure_?"

"When she busted me off Crematoria. I wouldn't let her put me in cryo. I escaped at the first planet we landed on."

"How?"

"I got myself arrested again," she said with a sheepish grin.

"I mean, how did she bust you off Crematoria?"

"She paid the guards to dump me with the garbage. I had to run to her ship before the sun hit. Damn near killed me." She looked away from him, inwardly to that time. "Kyra couldn't make it, she'd gotten a spiral shin fracture. Gov said he'd take care of her. I think he was in love with her."

Of course Gov hadn't mentioned Jack, Kyra had established herself AS Jack and Riddick hadn't used the old name on the new beast. Gov wouldn't have mentioned the break either, never knowing if Jack lived or died. Even the guards would have assumed Jack died in the run, and not cared with the creds already in their pocket. But the Gov must have thought it possible when Riddick mentioned it, because he was willing to try it as well.

"How long ago was that?"

"Two years, standard."

Imam had assumed Jack never left Crematoria. They were a long way away from the nearest system to Crematoria now. Could this Hypatia have followed Jack's movements somehow?

Was there more than just a disease or antidote tied into this girl's DNA? Something traceable? Riddick didn't think it possible but he didn't know shit about biology beyond the basics of battlefield medicine. It had been because he was unfamiliar with the specialized nanos the Mongers used that Zemma had gotten pregnant.

He banished the thought.

"Tell me if you think you see her again. Let me deal with it."

Jack nodded, no doubt still thinking about Kyra. The relationship was obvious by her adamant reluctance to discuss it. Riddick didn't think Jack was completely lez, but he wasn't really sure any woman was.

Dana hadn't been.

Still, the girls had had a relationship, and Jack wouldn't show the pain of loss, even to him. He understood that. It was safer to at least pretend not to care, when you were cursed to anyway.

They both sat over their congealed trays, caught up in their own thoughts.


	26. The Long Night

**26. The Long Night**

Riddick stood, and took the cold tea. "Goodnight, Jack."

She only nodded.

Riddick left without a stagger, and never a slur, same as Don. But Jack was feeling five shots like a kick in the head. She pushed away her half eaten tray of dinner with a slight smile on her face.

Zemma had kicked her in the head… But Zemma wanted her to stay. Jack snorted with amusement. That girl didn't make any damn sense.

Jack would have killed anyone who…

She shook her head, trying to clear it. It didn't help. Her vision swam a little, before her eyes landed on the empty bottle. She probably shouldn't have tried to keep up with Don on an empty stomach.

Don didn't make any damn sense to her either. This time she didn't smile. She didn't know what to think of his speech, and had less understanding why he made it.

Hypatia hadn't been the faerie godmother type at all. She made the wicked stepmothers look snuggly. When she'd locked little Audrey in various abandon apartments and warehouses, she'd frequently forgot to leave, or bring, her food.

At least she'd quit worrying about being fattened up for supper.

Still, the cold, pale woman never ate anything in front of young Jack. But she could drink mightily. Like Riddick, like Don, it never seemed to affect her.

The fear and loneliness of the first few weeks with Hypatia had been nothing; it didn't prepare her for the worst few months after that...

Because Hypatia didn't like to be bored.

Jack tried to push the memories away but the shadow she thought had followed her on the moon-base was harder to shake out of her head.

Hypatia liked to play games. Cat and mouse was her favorite, but not the only one she tormented Audrey with… 'Bait' was fun too. Hypatia was a predator who preferred to hunt other predators: human or animal. Audrey was a tempting bite sized morsel to both.

Her mother had been the first dead body she'd ever seen; in the months that passed she quit counting how many more she'd witnessed. That wasn't the frightening part. Hypatia liked to jack her jaw at the final moment, drawing it out and reveling in her own artistry. Her favorite color was arterial red, she'd said. She seemed almost giddy afterwards; friendly in such an unnatural way that Audrey was more afraid of her at that moment than of being alone.

It was another feeling that never left Jack. Friendliness was dangerous- she was only really safe when she was alone. Never mind that it was contrary to her other needs: to be cared for and loved. In a child's mind there are no contradictions.

Jack put her arm across the table and laid her head on it. She tried to think of happier thoughts, safer memories.

Her mother's smile was forever denied her; replaced and overlapped by the image of death. Her brain shied away, latching onto the only cold comfort she trusted.

Riddick.

Her Aramis. Her savior.

He'd held her hand as the skiff left the nightmare planet: A moment of peace and freedom and security. Jack reveled in the calm of that memory… before everything went to hell again. Before he left her alone to her fate, again.

Perhaps, in time, memories of Kyra would bring her solace. For now, the guilt, already two years old, and fresh as the moment it happened, would not abate. She'd run back to Hypatia to gain her freedom, and abandon Kyra to her fate on Crematoria. It never mattered that Kyra had urged her to go.

She'd run, just like Riddick.

Did it mean she never really loved Kyra? Jack never let herself think on it. She never let herself wonder, for more than a moment, if she was even capable of real love.

Jack fell into a dreamless sleep. Alcohol was always useful that way.

* * *

Zemma wasn't in bed when Riddick returned. He could hear her dry heaving and moaning in the bathroom. He found her there, naked and shivering, a sheen of sweat covering her body. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, but otherwise she seemed to be there. No one could look so miserable and not be fully in this world.

"Riddick, she whispered hoarsely. "What the hell…?" More unproductive gagging interrupted her words.

He put down the tea, and stepped past her to turn on the shower. "You caught the flu, back there."

"I haven't been sick since I was a kid," she might have started to laugh ironically but her body was suddenly busy trying to throw up nothing again.

"Lots of newbies get sick at a new port. It's why people like cryo." He picked her up around the middle and dumped her unceremoniously under the hot water. "Just sit there for a little while."

"You didn't…" she gasped out accusingly.

"I've been there. I've been damn near everywhere. Everything else I got vaxed for."

"Even," she had to pause again as her body took over it's futile efforts to rid itself of the common, but annoying, virus. The gagging was a little less strenuous, the time a little shorter, and she was able to continue after she caught her breath. "Even that plague you're worried about?"

"Yes."

"I don't have it, then? That plague?"

"No, it's just the flu. You'll be miserable, but you'll survive it." He waited for the question 'how do you know,' but she only nodded and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, the water washing over her.

After a few minutes she appeared recovered enough to ask another question. "Will I get sick at every port?"

"You can only catch any strain once. Local ports usually all have the same strain and the populace is immune. You should be okay at the next one."

She nodded again but didn't look any happier. At least her body was relaxing under the hot water.

Frequent travelers usually only got sick the first few years, but then became immune to all the common strains. Riddick had had his share, but seemed to throw off illnesses faster than others. He hoped Zemma would too, being Furyan.

He scowled to himself. Of course, he could just be built differently. The cold reality washed over him again. He was just a clone, a runaway experiment. He pushed the thought away irritably.

"We got Jack," he told her.

She nodded, "Good. Thank you, Riddick." She didn't look happy about it right now, but that was excusable.

"Do you remember our talk?"

Zemma frowned with her eyes still closed. "Why?" She grimaced, but Riddick hoped maybe it was her stomach, not her memory, that affected her this time.

"How's the water?" He changed the subject. He didn't want her going away into her own head again.

"Getting cold…"

"Let's get you back in bed."

He turned off the water and helped her up. He toweled her dry while she shakily held onto his shoulders, and leaned her head against his chest. He felt her chuckle weakly.

"I was so scared the first time you did this."

"I know."

She sighed and he thought she might say something else, but all she whispered was 'thank you' as he walked her to the bed. She could have meant then or now. He didn't inquire; he just snagged the cup as they passed.

"You're welcome," he whispered, as he pulled the blankets up around her. He meant both then and now. "Drink this," he handed her the tea. "And go back to sleep."

Eyes closed, she sighed again, "Do I have to?" She peeked one eye open and suppressed a slight grin as he took a deep breath to argue with her.

"Yes," his voice was firm: the final word.

She smiled weakly at the consternation on his face.

"You feel well enough to give me shit, now?" He asked her archly but not without some humor.

"Hopefully," she paused as a wave of nausea accompanied her first sip of tea. "Until the day I die." She didn't look at him.

It wasn't what he expected her to say. It took him by surprise, and he could only look at her. He'd been expecting her to tell him she loved him, again. She hadn't since that one night when she said she was IN love with him, but that learning to love him would take time. He'd been steeling himself for it, not knowing how he might respond.

Did he love this woman? He wanted her. He cared about her. He thought he might actually need her. He'd been ready to give up on not just his life, but all life. But, did he love her? The closest he'd come to love was… Jack… because Carolyn had cursed him to care.

But, love? Anything that wasn't 'I love you, too' would hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her.

But, love?

She glanced up over the rim of the cup, her face pale, but her eyes mischievous. "You don't get off easy - you said I'd recover."

He cuffed her lightly along side the head and called out the lights. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," she said meekly, but he could hear the smile in her tired voice.

A minute later he crawled into the other side of the bed. She reached out to touch his shoulder lightly.

'You don't have to say it,' she told him once. 'Just make me feel it.'

He took her hand in his.

What the hell _was_ love?

* * *

Of all the people on board the stripped down frigate, only one didn't fall asleep wondering about the nature of love, or his capacity for it. Don had loved and been loved many times as a young man. More importantly he'd been best man and witness to a love affair he considered the high bar for relationships.

If Jaron was Don's best friend, Tetily was Jaron's. Don couldn't find the capacity to resent her for it. She'd been a remarkable woman. Don couldn't stand watching his best friend searching so futilely and painfully for the woman he loved and couldn't talk about for nearly 30 years.

The woman Don had been forced to kill, and couldn't talk about for nearly 30 years.

He understood love just fine.

Sometimes it was a painful thing.

* * *

Zemma slept fitfully that night.

Riddick slept lightly, but that was usual.

When she shook from chill, or called out in fever dreams, Riddick would pull her close until she quieted. Then he could sleep again.

Sometimes when she wouldn't settle from just his touch, frustration would unaccountably and briefly flare. It was a baffling reaction, like the relief he felt when he walked her out of the police station... he couldn't explain it, or remember it ever happening before.

Finally she would fall back to rest again, and Riddick would command himself to do the same; not wanting to sleep, but having to because he couldn't think of anything to do that would soothe his agitation. He couldn't leave her… alone.

He woke early ship-morning, when Zemma's breathing changed. Her skin was hot and dry - dehydrated from the night of fever sweats. She began tossing her head a bit, small noises of distress escaping her chapped lips.

"Zem?"

She groaned in response, then sat bolt upright, gagging, before leaping, still barely awake, for the bathroom.

Riddick followed, intending to give what comfort he could, knowing it probably wouldn't help.

She was crying, heaving uncontrollably, her body fighting against her will. He crouched near her, rubbing her back lightly with one palm.

"You said..." she gasped, "I'd get better." She had to pause again, face pale, body shaking, hair clinging to her face and skull. "I feel worse," she accused him. Her eyes burned into him.

"It's just the flu." He tried to say it soothingly, knowing it was hollow and meaningless, and exactly what she didn't need to hear right now.

She started crying again, which caused the gagging to return.

"Shhh. Don't cry." He patted her back awkwardly. He felt powerless... and angry. She needed him and he couldn't help her. There was no enemy to fight, no action to take, no way in the Now to solve the problem.

"My head hurts so bad."

"I know." It sounded so trite that he regretted it instantly.

She leaned against him, and he found it felt good, like she needed him, wanted him...

"I want to lay down." Her voice was so small.

At least he could help her with that.

"All right. Up you go." He lifted her bodily and set her on her feet, but let her walk back to bed.

"My mouth tastes like shit." She groaned.

"You've had personal experience?" It was a pretty lame attempt at humor. Zemma didn't seem to appreciate it. "I'll get you some water," he amended, feeling angry with himself all over again. Angry at God all over again. Fucking stupid.

Zemma nodded a little as Riddick pulled the covers over her.

Filling her teacup with tap water offered him some little relief to the building tension of the last five minutes. It was an action, no matter how small, that would make her feel better. "Drink as much as you can. You're getting dehydrated."

She nodded again, with her eyes closed, but only took a little sip when he placed it in her hands.

"More," he grumbled.

"I don't want to throw up anymore." She kept her eyes closed, her tone a little rebellious. She didn't want to _say_ 'no', but didn't want to comply, either. It annoyed the hell out of him that she wouldn't let him try to make it better. It made him want to hit something. Fucking stupid.

He must have growled a little, because her eyes flew open. They were glassy with fever and red rimmed from crying. He took a deep breath.

"You gotta drink as much as you can. Don't make me get an I.V." He tried to keep his voice calm. "I'll get you something for your headache." He put his hand into her hair; his fingers massaged the back of her neck.

She held his gaze over the rim of the cup as she drained it all and handed it back. He kissed her forehead as he started to get up, but she caught his hand.

"I'm sorry Riddick. I don't mean to..." Tears filled her eyes again, but didn't spill.

Riddick felt worse. Was this what love was supposed to feel like?

"Don't worry." He cupped her cheek with one large hand. "I'll get you some aspirin."

He squeezed her hand and left quickly for the med lab, relieved to be able to _do_ something.

Fucking stupid.


	27. Awakening

**27. Awakening**

Riddick brought aspirin, promised more tea, and headed for the galley. He found Jack passed out at the table there. Don was stirring something aromatic at the stove. Don nodded good morning but didn't volunteer anything. Riddick glanced in the pot as he prepared tea.

"Soup?"

"I ordered some fresh stuff when you went to get Zemma. Didn't think you'd mind."

"Not if you can cook."

"Heh. How is she?"

"Like shit."

Don glanced up at Riddick's tone.

"You know anything about hypnosis?" Riddick kept his voice down to a conspiratorial level with a glance to the sleeping Jack.

Don shrugged, and didn't answer right away. "I think NeeW'Neta specialized in it. She was a child psychologist." Don watched Riddick from the corner of his eye as he stirred the soup.

"Zemma's mother?" Riddick nodded as if this were expected. "I think she hypnotized Zemma."

Don turned to face Riddick with a raised eyebrow. "To do what?"

"Forget."

"Do you know why?"

"She saw something. As a kid."

Don thought a moment. "The suicides. So what's the problem?"

"You know about that?"

"My job to know about everything. So what's the problem?"

Riddick didn't reply right away. "Nightmares," he hedged.

Don turned down the heat on his pot, turned away from the stove and leaned against the counter regarding Riddick coolly. "What else?"

"She's agoraphobic." Riddick paused again, uncomfortable revealing so much personal information about another person. "I think… she created a kind of world, for Zemma to hide in. But she's alone there, and she panics." It was the best he could describe the strange information he'd gleaned from Zemma's episodes.

Don considered this, looking down at the floor. "How bad is it?"

"She passes out, anytime she has to go planet-side."

"Not great when you've been looking forward to going back to your home world your whole life."

Riddick didn't bother to respond but joined Don's examination of the galley floor.

"Explains your sudden exit. Trying to get her used to it before she gets to Furya?"

Riddick nodded once. "But I think the triggers are making her worse, not better."

"And now you want to know if I can un-hypnotize her?"

Riddick nodded once.

"You should have mentioned this on the Basilica. I might have been able to dig someone up."

"I wasn't sure then."

There was nothing more to do about that now. The quiet pause was not uncomfortable between them; two men more used to silence than chat.

"So, what about Jack?"

"What about her?" Genuinely perplexed.

"Taking her to Fury as well?"

"Don't know yet."

Brief silence before Riddick went on again.

"I want you to work with her… train her."

"Jack? Why?"

"Because, I said." Riddick was curious how Don would take a direct order from him.

"Aye-aye, Captain." Neutral voice, flat tone. A man used to taking orders without complaint. Good enough.

"Did you notice anyone following you or Jack back there?"

"No. No one." Don seemed a little surprised at this question.

"You're sure?"

Don just looked at Riddick: a man used to being listened to.

Good enough.

"She thinks she was being followed?" Don asked.

Riddick nodded. "A merc from her past."

"Someone who knows…what… she is?"

Nod.

"I'll watch."

Another pause, this time Don continued.

"She'll never be as fast as Zemma. She isn't Furyan."

"You'll make her fast enough."

"For what?"

"To survive on her own."

"Then you _have_ thought this out."

"Just covering bases. She says she's been flying under the radar… but if she's got a tail, and I'm not there."

"She's not gonna like it."

"I'm not giving her a choice either."

"Zemma still needs work."

"I know. She's faster, but her reaction time…"

"She froze on that moon base. And that character she plays, that's just a bad habit. You gotta break her of it."

"I know."

"Just covering bases. I pulled sheets on you back there. Jack's not the only one who may need to shake a tail. If Zemma's with you, she's got to…"

"I know." Irritable. Don seemed to have had a lot of time while he was getting Zemma.

"It was my job to know everything." Don explained. "Don't worry. She's strong."

"She's Furyan." Riddick shrugged.

"I don't just mean physically."

"You didn't like Zemma. What changed?"

"I don't like anybody." Don suppressed a ghost of a grin, as he looked at Riddick sideways.

"Heh." Riddick's smile was just as much a phantom.

Jack woke suddenly, catching both their attention. Her head snapped up fro the table but her eyes were still closed. "Coffee..." She moaned.

"Make it yourself," Don snapped at her.

"Fuck." Jack's head landed back on her crossed arms.

Don snorted in amusement. Riddick thought Don might enjoy 'training' with Jack after all.

* * *

"I brought your tea." Jack called on the lights.

"You can't make me drink it," Zemma said from under the covers.

"Riddick says you have to."

"I don't see why. It wont stay in me long enough to do any good." Zemma peeked out from under the blankets and blinked in the light. Jack's face was enough to make her laugh… if she dared that much movement. "Set it there and sit down. I wont tell if you wont."

Jack sat on one side of the bed. "Why did you want me back?"

"Riddick. He couldn't make you. But I could make him make you."

"Don brought me."

Zemma opened her eyes and looked Jack over. "You don't look broken anywhere."

"I came because he said you wanted me. But that was bullshit, huh?"

"No. I wanted you to come back."

"For Riddick." She snorted.

"For me, too."

"Bullshit. Why?"

"You'll just give me grief… so how 'bout you don't ask, and I won't say it."

"Nuh-uh. Say it." It was Jack's turn to laugh at Zemma's face.

"See. I'm not gonna. You can't make me." Zemma stuck her tongue out at Jack and closed her eyes. Jack snorted.

"Zem. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. I'm still gonna kick your ass when I'm better."

"You got in a lucky shot last time."

"You telegraph your moves too much. You need to train more."

"Bullshit. I'm a seasoned pro."

"You're slow."

"Bullshit."

Zemma smiled. "Did you bring cards?"

"No. I didn't think you were up to it. I was just supposed to bring tea, and apologize."

"I'm not up to it. But I'm bored anyway. Bring 'em next time. And thank you for the tea."

"You're welcome."

"Zem…"

"Hmm?"

"Why… how come…?" Jack was amazingly tongue tired. Zemma just waited for her. "You're not that much older than me… Why did Riddick…? He treats me like a kid… But he chose you."

Zemma opened her eyes again. "I'm a decade or more years than you, Jack. I'm older than Riddick, I think, by a year at least, maybe two."

"Bullshit."

"Just passed my 32nd standard a week ago."

"You just had a birthday and didn't tell anyone?"

"Who's to tell?" Zemma was perplexed.

"Well," Jack gasped. "Your friends! God! We could have had a party, or somethin'. At least cake!"

"What are you talking about, Jack? My mother has been dead for years." Never mind how would they create cake from rations?

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, what's the point of a birthday party? She's gone. She doesn't need cake and presents."

"Wait a minute. On _your_ birthday you give your _mom_ presents?"

Zemma frowned and closed her eyes. "Yes, of course, Jack. It's to celebrate her. She did all the work. I was just born."

"So, you don't get presents until you have a kid?"

Zemma kept her voice neutral and light. She wasn't ready to be a mother anyway. "Yes, Jack. Isn't that how it works?" What was this girl going on about?

"That's some crazy shit."

Huh?

"Everywhere else, the kids get presents."

"_That's_ crazy, Jack. Babies don't need anything."

"That's the way it is. I think your way is crazy." Jack snorted.

"You got presents as a child?"

Jack scowled, and Zemma closed her eyes again, hoping the matter was closed.

"Next stop, I'm gonna get you a birthday present." She sounded very pleased with herself, as if it would put things right between them.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Jack." How could she explain how terribly painful that would be to her? "You don't have to do this."

"I know. But, it'll be fun."

"Not for me, Jack." Zemma's head was hurting again. She didn't want to argue the inappropriateness of what Jack was suggesting. She took a deep breath and blurted out: "It's not your fault. I don't know what Riddick told you to get you to come in here and apologize to me, but whatever it was, it's not really your fault. You don't have to buy me anything."

"He… told me you were pregnant when I pushed you over the rail. But that's not why…"

"Not your fault, Jack. Nature of the beast."

"You think he guilted me into being here? _And_ you think I'm some kind of animal?" Jack's voice raised; Zemma could hear the offense in it.

"No, Jack." Zemma kept her eyes closed, her head was throbbing, and the delicate, good-natured banter was now cracked; she hoped not entirely broken. "Jack, animals don't feel guilt. But, that's not what I meant."

"Geeze, Zem, I'm trying here. I just wanted to do something nice… to kinda make up for how I've behaved, and you gotta get all…"

"Jack! Shut it." Zemma raised her voice, though the sound of it was painful to her ears. She heard Jack's mouth close with a snap. Zemma sighed.

"I see you're trying, and I know how hard this is for you. I get that you aren't really comfortable with Riddick and I together."

Jack barked out a short cynical laugh, but didn't deny it, either.

"He loves you in his own way. That's really hard for him, I think. You've been so mad at him, but you didn't see him grieve. You haven't noticed this whole trip is somehow for your benefit, not mine. It certainly puts him at risk again. He wants something for you. I just don't know what it is."

Zemma could hear the blood pressure throbbing in her ears with an annoying swish-swish in time with the pounding in her head. Her mouth was dry, and her throat was sore from talking so much all at once. Still, Zemma wanted to get straight with Jack before the girl flipped the other way into a spurious friendship. Zemma was willing to be patient; she wasn't willing to foster yet another mask from Jack that would just create more tension between the three of them.

Zemma reached out, more or less blindly, her eyes still closed, for Jack's hand. She heard the girl sniff, felt wetness on the back of her hand. Neither spoke, and Jack didn't pull her away.

"Just bring cards next time and we'll play," Zemma told her tiredly. "You don't need to buy me anything. Just keep me company. You make me laugh."

"Drink your tea," Jack told Zemma quietly. "I'll be back later with the cards." Zemma never opened her eyes, never embarrassed Jack by witnessing the silent tears that had tracked down Jack's face. Jack squeezed Zemma's hand and left hurriedly, feeling restless and uncomfortable again.

'Just keep me company.'

Jack wondered if Zemma heard Riddick ask her that very thing, or if these two people really were as lonely as all that.

* * *

Zemma slept most of the day after that. She woke long enough to drain her teacup, wish for more, and decide she was too tired to get dressed and go to the galley. She didn't wake when Riddick looked in on her periodically, or when he replaced her tea later. She'd never been so sick in her life.

* * *

Jack hadn't been too happy about Don taking her on as a student. He didn't seem to like anything she knew, and berated her for everything she didn't. She couldn't pilot, didn't know anything about crewing a ship, and didn't care that Riddick had set the thing up so it didn't need much crewing. Don changed that too. They had two weeks of time to kill. They might as well fill the hours usefully. Riddick agreed that the girls needed the instruction to be more well rounded. Jack had given him a look that cried 'betrayer!' He wanted to laugh.

* * *

Riddick brought some of Don's hot soup back for Zemma. She was still sleeping, the extra tea untouched. He set the soup down and undressed, intending to slide in beside her until she woke on her own. It had been a long, but productive day. He wasn't displeased.

Zemma began one of her nightmares, calling out for her mom and crying. It wasn't the little girl voice this time, but the older child, the teenage Zemma. Recalling the death, the murder, of her mother?

"Momma, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Riddick slid into bed carefully, and wrapped his arms around her. She didn't wake, didn't settle down at his touch. She resisted him, seemed to fight back from his touch; still locked in the fear of the past. Riddick felt some strange new emotion…guilt? Stupid. He should just wake her up…

Something from the corner of his eye caught his attention, drew him away from Zemma thrashing nearly underneath him. He didn't decide to turn away from her to look… He didn't want to turn to look... He knew almost instantly what he would see. Something, someone, he hadn't seen in months.

A hole seemed to appear behind the closet. A woman he recognized, but didn't know, seemed to be walking towards him; behind her, a dead planet. But this time, as she passed through what should have been the closet, Zemma's dress seemed to cling to her momentarily: a sticky piece of the fabric of reality. As she approached the bed the dress conformed until she seemed to actually be wearing it.

As usual, Riddick felt inexplicably frozen in place: a captive audience to an unwelcome vision.

The woman stopped, reaching out one hand, palm forward as if she might lay it on Riddick's chest. She spoke one word, "Tsouixnomi."

Riddick didn't recognize it. It was Furyan, but not a word he knew.

"T-soo-no-mee," he repeated.

"Tsouixnomi." She repeated, her palm glowed and he felt the warmth of it on his chest again.

"Tso-nomi," he tried again, the blended consonants coming easier now.

The vision woman smiled and let her hand drop slowly.

Zemma's thrashing suddenly quieted. "Riddick?" She asked sleepily.

The vision woman faded. Riddick looked down at the glowing palm print on his chest.

"You okay, Zem?" He could see her eyes were open, lenses up, glowing in the dark as she looked at him.

"Just tired."

"I brought you soup." She didn't seem to notice the fading glow, inches from her face. She never noticed the woman. But that word seemed to have had some impact on her. Before, she had woken from her nightmares shaken and emotional. At this moment she seemed unaware she'd even had one.

Zemma sat up, the planes and angles of her face showing she must be trying to smile. "I'm actually hungry," she whispered.

Riddick handed her the mug of warm soup, still thinking about what had just occurred. As always, it was the 'why' that nagged him the most. Why had this vision woman plagued him? Why had the handprint also appeared on the Purifier? Why had she disappeared after that? Why hadn't Zemma noticed her now? And why now? Why that word?


	28. Something Strange

**28. Something Strange**

Something strange happened while I was sick. Don calls me Lady again, but not with that pause just before the word, or that tone of voice that he knew drove me crazy. Sometimes he even gives me half a smile, like it's a compliment. Riddick seems more relaxed. Jack seems harried, but more contented too. Maybe she's just tired. I don't know what went on with those three, but it was a good thing.

Don has also instituted a proper ship's watch schedule, though Riddick insisted on Earth hours for some odd reason. It means four 6-hour shifts instead of 8-hour shifts: 24-hour days instead of 32. I should be grateful; I'm still so tired all the time. Riddick says the flu should last two weeks and it's only been four days since I quit puking, and I should take it easy.

I have second watch after Don. Riddick is after me. Jack has the late watch. It gives me almost no time with Jack, but lots of time with Riddick. Don is spending every minute with Jack training her to do all kinds of things. She isn't too badly bruised, so she must be a quicker… or is that a faster… learner than me. I'm not sure which word is proper in Furyan syntax. Why is this so much harder to write than speak?

Riddick has some strange ideas. I'm stuck writing this diary now, in Furyan, of course. Bizarrely, he wants it with a pen, on paper. He says he wont read it, but he wants me writing every night for a little while. He won't let Don reconfigure the keyboard in our cabin for Furyan letters and let me type it. My hand cramps up after a few sentences. Prick.

Took me almost an earth hour to write that, with a few push ups in between. I still need more upper body strength. Riddick wont let me train again until he thinks I'm fully recovered. If he reads this he'll be mad I'm exercising when he's not here.

I wonder how Jack is doing.

* * *

1:04 a.m.

Damn, I hate this watch. At least Riddick has the decency to give me a wake up call. So far they haven't noticed I'm crossing the com lines to whatever room I crash in. If they do, and fix the glitch, I'm toast. Listening to Don, if you can't wake up for your own watch you should be scourged. I don't know what the hell that is, but it doesn't sound nice. If I oversleep and they come looking for me… well, Don will shit bricks if he finds out I'm not in my 'assigned' room.

Time to take a sonic shower, and do my bit. Hope there are still some of those power bars left in the galley. I get so hungry when I'm up all night. I don't need Don catching me off the bridge again. Everyone else can leave the bridge during their watch, after duties, of course, but not me. Fuck no.

1:55 a.m.

Report to bridge 5 minutes early. I know Rid won't turn me in for being late, but Don checks the damn monitors and can tell if I am... since I'm his bitch after my watch, he'll make me pay. At two, on the beep, I announce loudly, "Jack reporting for the watch!"

Riddick looks nearly as annoyed over the formality as I am, but does respond, "The watch is yours."

"Anything fun out there?" I ask.

"Nothing, but a spike on sensors in quadrant 4x1x18. You know where that is?"

I think a moment. Don showed me how the quad grid works, but it doesn't pop into my head.

"Just a sec." and I go to the notes I have made on sensor grids. With Don you better take notes. He's not big on repeating himself. I check my notes, look at the screen, check the notes again, and point. "Right here?"

"Is that a question, or a statement?"

"Statement." I say it with more confidence than I feel as I try not to bite my lip.

Rid just looks at me, and shakes his head slowly. I'm about to argue when he says, "Good. Keep an eye on it, call me if it pops up again." He points to three different pads. "Do Dons list first, then Zemma's, then mine. Don't look at mine 'till the other two are done." And he walks out. That wasn't a grin on the Old Man's face as he turned away. Was it?

I sit down and start my checklist. The others can do this very fast, even Zemma, but I take my time... still checking my notes. I check ship's systems, mostly looking for red flags, and I check the ship's log. This is supposed to make me more well rounded?

3:17 a.m.

Hey! Changing the CO2 filters in the cargo hold wasn't done. Did Riddick forget to have them done, or forget to mark them off? I gotta think a minute. As 'Officer of the Watch' it's supposed to be my job to tell the 'Officer of the Ship' to get any jobs that need doing done. God, I hate ordering Riddick to do things. I thought it would be fun. Ha!

I key the com to the galley; he always heads to the galley after watch. "Ah… Riddick, did you have Zem do the filters in the cargo hold?" I wait. No answer. He probably crawled into bed with her already. He's gonna be pissed if I wake her up by calling their quarters. I hate doing ship announcements. I take a deep breath, key the ship-wide com, and almost forgot to take the quarters off the com. I'd really be fucked if I woke Don.

"Riddick? Are you out there."

The light showing incoming com is from the engine room. "You're lucky Don's not with me. I don't think that's how you're suppose to call for someone."

His voice sounds light. Just giving me shit. But he's right; Don's a stickler for protocol ever since Riddick told him to get me prepared for... what the hell was I being prepared for?

"Did you get Zemma to do the filters in the cargo bay?" I know I sound pissy. I don't mean to.

"She's still not a hundred percent, so I figured _you_ could do it when Don comes on." I can just picture the patronizing look on his face. He knows I hate doing filters. By the time you're done you're dusty, with nasty brown streaks all over you.

I turn to Don's to-do list. It begins with 'What have you NOT done on the checklist this time?' I key Riddick back on the engine room com again. "Officer of the Watch to Officer of the Ship, please respond." I wait.

"What?" He sounds annoyed. Damn it, I'm biting my fingernail, again.

"_Please_ change the CO2 filters in the cargo bay, and report when done." I hope my voice didn't quaver.

There's no response from him. Is he supposed to respond? I check my notes.

4:43 a.m.

I've done three course corrections, per Don's directions. If I did 'em right, we are on the exact same course as when I started. Won't know for sure 'till Don gets here, of course. I think it's his favorite torture, making me wait for hours to find out how bad I screwed up.

Still haven't heard from Riddick. Maybe that's a good thing?

Don has me studying astral navigation. I have absolutely no hope of ever doing this; the math alone is ridiculous! When I told him I don't understand it he simply handed me a reader with a math chip. Sadistic prig. At least it gets me two hours away from him to study with Zemma.

I'd nap but those damn ship monitors would catch me. I wonder if you can turn them off and make it look like an accident? I check my notes and pull up the ship's computer schematics. I don't understand them all, but there _is_ a help button... interesting. Lets ask the computer for monitors...

5:22 a.m.

Zemma has me checking ambient energy waves and cross-referencing to see if they are possible communications. Sure, intelligent life is speaking to us with solar radiation. Can my life be any more pathetic? I need a port of call in the worse way. Suddenly, there's a red light to my left and a spot on the grid map. I look carefully and count the grids... checking my notes…

4...X1...X19, no, 18. That _is_ the sensor spike Riddick told me to look for. I hit the ship wide com, barely remembering to take off the personal quarters, and try to stay calm. "Jack of the Watch to Officer... dammit… Riddick the spike is on right now."

I start to wonder if Riddick is actually in his quarters and didn't hear me when he strides in... dusty and covered with brown smudges. He pulls me out of my chair and plops his dusty ass in it. I take the co-pilots seat. He starts throwing switches and punching buttons. I try to keep up but get lost. It looks like he's trying to lock onto the frequency of the spike. At least, I think he is.

He switches on a com I never used... I think it's a personal com link. "Don, get up here. I got it, but I can't keep it."

"No! Don't call Satan to my watch!" Did I say that out loud? And do those monitors have audio pick-ups?

Don burst in half a minute later and takes the pilot's chair, and now I'm pushed back to the Nav. Hey now, who's Officer of the Watch? This I carefully do _not_ say out loud. Then I notice Don is fully dressed, shoes and all. Does he sleep standing up, fully dressed? Does he ever _not_ wear that armored uniform, for that matter? How many can he have?

"Got it!" Don exclaims. "Jack, give me five points of gain on the sensor, but no more than five."  
Riddick starts to get up, but Don puts his arm out to stop him, without missing a beat of whatever he's doing. I don't think I was supposed to notice. I go to the sensor panel, grab my notepad, check it only once, and set the gain up slowly… and carefully. It may have only gone up four, but I stop when Don says, "STOP."

The two of them keep working for about an hour. No real discussion, but some nods, and one of them says something about a sloop or yacht. What the fuck?

6:00 a.m.

The spike ends, and whatever it was vanishes.

Don gets up from the pilot's seat, looks at me hovering, and says, "I believe this is still yours. I will see you in two bells."

"Two bells?" I don't get it. That's not in my notes.

Riddick looks at Don "Where'd you hear that?"

"Two bells?" I repeat.

"All military history, whatever the planet of origin, is interesting. Earth has more than it's share. I'm fond of the Napoleonic naval era particularly."

"Two bel..." I start again, but Don gives me that 'don't you dare' look, and I shut the fuck up.

Riddick snorts and says to me, "In wet navy, a bell is wrung every hour," as they walk out together.

So, 'two bells' is two hours? The prick could have just said so. Wet navy? What the hell does Riddick know about any of that?

I sit down and go back to work on Zemma's to-do list, doing the best I can. I have no interest in the forms I'm supposed to fill out, but I want to get through it and find out what's on Riddick's list for me.

6:56 a.m.

Almost done with Zemma's list; the bitch left me math homework! I stand and stretch. Why am I always so hungry at this time? For a break, I start my log entries. I mark the filter in the cargo hold changed even though Riddick never actually _reported_ it done. He _looked_ like it was done. I mention what I can of the spike in the sensors. I note that Don will elaborate on the entry later. See if he notices _that_. Twenty minutes and I'm finally done with Zemma's stuff. Damn, if it hadn't been for that sensor thing I would have been done an hour ago.

I take Riddick's clipboard but it has nothing on it. Under the page is a disk. Did he record his tasks for me? Not that I have time to do any of it… I pop it into the computer and hear is deep voice:

"If you did not order me to do the filters eject this and throw it out. If you did, then sit down and relax; you did a good job." Heh. Prick.

I wait and soon sounds of music come out; gentle string instruments, and a hypnotic beat. Not bad. It's about glittering gold and a stairway to heaven. I close my eyes and enjoy it.

8:00 a.m.

Don walks through the door. "Don W'Rdah reporting for the watch," he says. He checks our course straight away.

"The watch is yours," I tell him. "Riddick's only comment was about that sensor spike at 4X1X18, which, obviously, you're aware of."

As he looks at the log he asks if there is anything else. I tell him about having Riddick do the CO2 filters in the cargo hold. He snorts, "That'll teach him." But I don't think he said that to _me_, did he?

"You are on course. Took you almost an hour to do it though. Zemma could have done it in half that. Think you're ready to set a Nav course?"

"Not even almost." But he doesn't yell, he just looks at me.

"I have no duties for you today. I will com you if I need you. Spend some time sparing with Riddick, or Zemma if she is up to it. At 14:30 I will expect you for hand-to-hand training."

I have to do the math to figure out what time he means. What the fuck was Rid thinking, putting us on this screwy Earth time, just to have Don screw with it even more? I head out to the galley for some food and hope someone else will be there. I really want to know what all the stuff with the sensor spike was about. God, I really hope they don't tell me it's Her.


	29. The Run

**29. The Run**

I hit my room to change clothes. I checked the lock pad to see if the hair I left on the buttons. As usual, it was there. Probably obsessive of me to be so careful on this ship, but I get manic if I just don't do it. Like I can't sleep alone where anyone tells me to; afraid I'll get locked in again. Damn, what a gloomy thought. I changed into a tee shirt and sweats. If Don was gonna give me free time I was gonna run the ship; run any thoughts of _Her_ out of my head.

I strapped on my shoulder pack with my spare clothes and my 'flee kit': money and the other things I must have with me at all times. It's not heavy, and it gives me some peace. Gotta hand it to Jaron, they did have everything I needed on that ship. So far, no one's asked what's in it, or why I wear it to run.

I put the disk Riddick left me into my reader and grabbed a set of earphones. There's other music on it, this would be a good time to hear it. As I leave, I put the hair back on the lock pad.

The frigate is laid out in three decks up and down, and four sections front to back. The front section is for command: Observation in the top deck, then bridge, and command quarters at the bottom. Second section is ships operation systems on all the decks. All those damn little green lights I'm supposed to watch in case they turn red. The third section is crew quarters on the first and second decks, and cargo in the third deck. The fourth section is engineering, three decks of three different engines, and more green to red lights.

I still don't know what engine is used for what. Don told me the ship is so smart it will pick the right engine to do the job you ask it to do. There's actually another deck to the ship, a false deck at the top, for a ship's boat, or Don's scout ship: the one he caught up to us in. There's also 'wings' on the frigate. I don't know if 'wings' is the right word, but Riddick told me they help when the ship is in atmosphere. You can get inside the wings if you don't mind crawling in the small maintenance tubes. I checked them out for hiding in, but only Zemma would like 'em.

The Mongers don't like stairs; can't run a whole company of men down stairs in changing gravities, so there are ramps going up and down between decks. There's a few anti-grav tubes, too. They'll get you from the top to the bottom, and back again real quick, but using them makes me wanna puke. The entire center of the ship is open, with the ramps winding around, giving it a cathedral like look. Zem told me Mongers like large open spaces to rally the troops and assemble the faithful. At least Riddick pulled out all that gloomy shit they called art.

I learned a while back that if you open all the main section doors you can run a circle through the ship and that huge open space using sections two and three. Just running the ramps makes me dizzy, and it gets boring. I run the lower deck, and before I get to the start line, I take the main ramp up a deck, through the maze of corridors, back out to the ramps, go up and do it again. Then up to the top deck and start working down. I usually do it three times. The first time I jog and open all the doors… then I run it full out, and then a third time to close all the doors… don't want His High and Bitchiness yelling at me for leaving atmospheric doors open.

Headed down to the galley… I want eggs and bacon and pancakes and toast… but I'll settle for whatever's in a box. I like to pretend that whatever I can stick a fork into is Don.

"Zemma could have done it in half the time," I mocked, feeling churlish.

When I got to the galley Riddick was there, still in his dusty clothes, talking to Zem.

"Morning, fellow prisoners!" I quipped.

Riddick glared at me. Zemma smiled at me. I must have interrupted something real important. At least they still had their clothes on.

"I am just gonna grab something to eat and …uh, do Don's slave list." It was the only thing I could think of that would get me out quick, without sounding rude. "Wanna kick me in the head later Zem? Don's orders."

Zemma giggled, "Love to." She glanced at Riddick for approval, which galls me to no end. He just tipped one shoulder and didn't say no. "Noon-ish?"

"Super." I grabbed a handful out of a box of protein bars. "I'll see you in three bells" I said this over my shoulder as I headed out. I heard Zemma ask Riddick "Three bells?"

On the way to the lower deck I stopped by a parts locker. Before I could start rummaging for things, a voice boomed out over my head, "Officer of the Watch to Officer of the Ship, respond."

What the hell? I keyed the com pad by the door, "Jack here." I waited and looked for any cameras I might have missed before.

"What are you doing in the parts locker?" He sounded terse, but I was ready for this.

"Damn, Don, you were just complaining a few days ago about the lenses being bad on the monitors in the cargo hold. I figured I would change them as I ran." I was nervous but tried to sound annoyed instead. Watch, wait, be ready for whatever.

"I've told you before to call before entering a secure area…" I heard him take a breath, "Carry on." He sounded exasperated.

I turned off the com. "I got your 'secure area' hanging right here, Donny Boy."

I took out my notepad and grabbed the components on the list I made from computer help file last night. I had to scramble to get grab the lenses into my pack, too. "Won't do to forget the cover story," I snorted.

I changed the lenses in the cargo hold. If this had been done earlier I wouldn't have had to wonder if Riddick changed the filters last watch. It was one of Don's constant complaints: how Riddick had scraped so many monitors when he was making the frigate look like salvage. Not that I mind.

I keyed the com. "Officer of Ship to Officer of the Watch," I said flatly. I should have said 'respond' as well, but I'm not quite comfortable with that whole procedure.

"Go ahead," was all he said.

"How's that?"

It took almost thirty minutes of adjusting before he gave me an all-clear signal.

"Well, if you're satisfied? I'd like to get a run in before I go kick Zemma's ass." That might have sounded sharper than I meant.

"I told you I didn't need you already." He cut off the signal.

The first lap was slow, as I opened doors for my run. I stopped and made sure the berth I slept in last night had no sign of my being there. I picked the lock on another room I planned on using. Wrong angle, I can't sleep behind the bed without being visible from the door. I found another one. I wondered if Riddick knows how good I am at lock picking? I pulled off the com panel and put my chip in. Now, when Riddick signals 'my' room tonight, it'll come here.

Along the path I checked my notes and opened wall panels to look at monitor wiring, and try to identify the components. The computer showed me how to tell if a camera was working, so I didn't have to worry about Don catching me here. Riddick left very few monitors in the center sections of the ship. I even saw why one outside the med lab was not working. I didn't fix it.

On my way back to the lower decks I checked on my stash. Stuff I had found in the crew quarters I'd stayed in. Soldiers, and prisoners, are very good at hiding contraband, but not as good as I was finding it. I wondered if I could get a job doing things like that. Ship's Illegal Imports Officer, if they have a job like that.

I stashed the stuff I'd found in an access tube to the wings, behind an electric panel and ten pounds of wiring. I was up to a short-range com unit, a needler pistol and clip, a girly magazine (in a language I didn't know, but they all look the same), few different types of money from different systems (very useful to me but why did they keep it?) I also found a very nasty picture of a brunette (kinda yum, actually), and a holo-cube of a woman that looked a lot like I remembered my mom before _She_ came into my life.

Ugh. Why did everything _have_ come back to Hypatia?

The run started out good, before the past encroached on me. Thoughts of _Her,_ and my mother, ran after me, gained ground. I put on Riddick's music and ran faster… and still they pursued me. After the first lap, I did a second even faster; a song about a black dog ringing in my ears. I pushed myself until I was tilted headfirst down the ramps. Loud instruments, and a man almost screaming about a place called 'California', echoed in my head as I made short-cuts across gangways and bounced off bulkheads when I took corners too fast. I decided not to slow down for my third lap. The song about some battle pounded through my head and helped me ignore the stitch in my side and the pain in my chest as I labored for breath.

Towards the end of the third lap, the song was over and I was starting to slow to catch my breath, when I heard voices ahead of me, near the engineering doors. I stopped and leaned against the bulkhead to hear who was there. Riddick had been in here last night when I called him. I forced myself to breath easier, so whoever it is wont hear me, and so I could hear better. I concentrated on the breathing exercises Don has been trying to teach me to calm myself, and to my surprise it worked this time.

"…what if we patch it through the auxiliary engine then?" It was Riddick's voice, and he sounded mad.

Don voice was next, and it sounded equally curt. "We have been over this, Sir, wrong power source. Weapons, if we had any _left_ on this ship, _must_ come off the mains."

I must have come in at a hot point in this conversation. I waited, still doing the breathing exercises. No more talk, and I started to worry they would come out and catch me eavesdropping, when Don, in a calmer voice said, "Look, I know what you want, I even understand why you want it. _You_ got rid of all the external weapons, and without them I can _not_ make a ship to ship weapon."

Ship to ship weapon? Holy hells.

I heard Riddick sigh. "We could always put on suits and board it."

Don barked a laugh, a strange and eerie sound. I thought, Satan can laugh? "Won't be boring," he said. After a few moments Don went on in a reflective tone, "Let me ask Zemma. She knew more about the Basilica's systems than I originally thought."

There was a pause before Riddick said, "I'll send her."

Don followed up with, "And Jack… when do you tell her?"

No answer from Riddick. I heard boot steps heading my way, so I headed the other. Before I was out of earshot, though, I heard one last thing from Don:

"A soldier has the right to know what they're facing." It was a matter of fact comment. It made me feel weird. It made me feel warm towards Don. Ew!

I ran by the galley, still covered with sweat, to tell Zem I was running late. "I still have to close the doors or Don will skin me and wear me like a hat."

She laughed and asked if I wanted some company. I am glad I am covered in sweat so she can't see the tear slip out and slide down my cheek. "I'd like that." What the hell? First Don, now this? All that late watch shit must be making my brain soft.

We jogged the course and closed the doors. I shared my stairway song with her. I probably shouldn't be surprised to discover Zemma has checked out the ship almost as much as me. She even knew about the cramped tubes in the wings… she called them cozy. As we got near the engineering section I felt anxious, but the door is closed. We finished the route, and with all secure, we headed to the cargo hold to spar.

The sparring went in fits and spurts. Zemma was still getting worn-out real quick, even though it's been days since she was sick. Never mind I've never been sick a day in my life. I'm exhausted from my run, so of course I gave _her_ shit about being tired and pretend I wasn't. She just said, "I told you I was old," and laughed.

There are questions I don't dare ask that kept trying to pop out of my mouth.

At one point I tried a sharp rounded kick to Zemma's head. It's my favorite move, though I try not to think about the One who taught it to me. Zemma blocks it, and I ended up on my ass for my trouble.

"How do you do that?" I asked irritably. "It's my best move. No one but you and Riddick has ever been able to stop it."

Zemma plopped down on the floor besides me. "Jaron showed me that. When a person sets their shoulders, and levels their center of gravity to one side or the other, that's what comes next."

I sighed, "The only way I could ever able to stop it was to charge forward and tackle Her." I couldn't believe that slipped out. I tried not to look at Zem but I could feel her looking at me. She didn't ask who the 'her' was. I thought it was bugging her to, though. I glanced at her. She raised an eyebrow back.

I sighed again. What the hell… it was better than talking about math for the next hour.


	30. Again

**30. …Again**

The women lay on their backs, staring at the cargo hold ceiling. Jack had been amazingly articulate when she wanted to get her point across. Zemma felt all the anguish and fear Jack kept bottled up inside, and a great deal of respect for the young woman's fortitude. And, a great deal of concern about this Hypatia. She couldn't really be following Jack, could she?

Riddick would know.

"Jack, how can she keep finding you?"

"I dunno." Bleak tone, resignation.

"Is it something you're…."

"I don't KNOW."

Zemma kept her eyes on the bulkhead above her, but reached out for Jack's hand again. She didn't want to push the girl away now that Jack opened up so much to her. But this was sounding like a problem that needed to be dealt with. Perhaps the very problem Riddick intended to deal with when they started this trip. It was time to ask him straight out. Zemma squeezed Jack's hand, but it was her own discomfort she was seeking strength for. Jack was never a comfortable topic between her and Riddick.

"I have to go," Jack sounded desolate, rather than relieved to have unburdened her fears.

Zemma hauled herself up, feeling too heavy even in the lighter grav of the cargo deck. She'd been pushing herself too hard, and Riddick was going to notice. At least this conversation might distract him from that. She smirked and Jack surprised her by noticing; she didn't realize how much emotion she was showing outwardly.

"What's funny?"

"Riddick's going be pissed that I went running with you… but maybe your Hypatia will keep his attention diverted from that." Zemma looked at Jack carefully, to see what reaction she'd have to the idea of Zemma talking to Riddick about Jack's past. Jack only shrugged.

"He kinda knows some of it. He told me to tell him if I saw her again."

Zemma nodded. But she doubted Riddick would wait to find out if this Hypatia was tracking their Jack… he never did anything without a purpose… including organizing ship watches and sensor scans. Damn it. He could have told her what was up.

Nature of the beast.

Jack started off towards her training session with Don. Zemma wanted to say something encouraging to her but simply lacked the words or experience to say the right thing to her friend.

She headed for her cabin to get changed for her watch. Riddick had already slept the four hours he typically got when in bed by himself, and gotten back up for the day. The conversation would have to wait till she finished her duties. Zemma hurried, she didn't want Don regulating her back to the status of student. She had no doubt he would treat her no differently than Jack if she gave him reason, like being late.

She arrived in plenty of time and Don was damn near cordial.

Riddick didn't show up at his usual hour to keep her company, so Zemma had to stew by herself.

He'd been so sweet and considerate while she was sick, and a stickler about her practicing Furyan on the reader Don provided for Riddick. But at the same time, he'd become a bit distant again as she got better… treating her fragilely, again. That made her crazy.

It made her feel jealous of Jack, again.

Alone, on the bridge deck, the voice in her head had center stage.

…Everything's about Jack…

It's not like that.

Everything changed when she showed up.

Not her fault.

Now he's avoiding you, again.

Something's on his mind.

Something, that's not _you_.

Hypatia, she's a problem to be solved.

And you aren't a part of the solution.

He never does anything without reason.

Zemma sighed, and started cycling through the available cameras to see if anyone was awake to keep her company. Jack and Don should have finished their sparring hours ago. Jack usually headed off on her own after that. Zemma understood that. She kind of envied Jack's ability to do that, now that Zemma couldn't.

Not surprisingly she couldn't see Jack anywhere, but she was surprised to discover a new working camera, and found Riddick and Don in the cargo hold. They appeared to be arguing, but short of keying open the com, she couldn't hear them. Her finger hovered over the switch.

If you're ever going to find out what they're up to… the voice nagged at her.

Zemma turned away. She didn't want to spy; she wanted to be included.

She called up the little program she'd been using to teach Jack higher math, and created more homework for the girl based on her wrong answers. It killed an hour.

Still, no Riddick. She shuffled through the cameras, again. No Jack, or Don, either. She wasn't use to being uncomfortable with being alone anymore. She keyed open the com unit in the cargo hold, to see if maybe they were just out of sight.

"…She's pushing herself too hard as it is," Riddick was saying.

"Nothing wrong with how fast she recovered," Don answered him.

"She started working out again, as soon as she could walk without puking her guts up." Riddick sounded a little exasperated, and irritated. "She's getting too thin."

Sneak! He HAD read her journal.

"Rations will do that," Don sounded exasperated.

Zemma snorted. No kidding. She thought she'd been pleasantly rounded in all the places a woman should be, but a steady diet of rations these past weeks had put off her love of eating, she hoped not permanently. She thought, lately, that she'd started taking on Jack's angular silhouette.

"That's why there's a galley. I can't believe none of you can cook."

"Who knew YOU could cook?" Zemma could picture Riddick's half smile, and tilt of his head as he said this. He's trying to distract from the topic at hand, she realized.

"No excuse for not telling her what we're doing, and that I need to see her."

"She went running with Jack. She needs at least one quiet night to recover…maybe she'll take a nap up there." Zemma recognized Riddick's tone of voice: he was sidestepping Don.

Don barked a short, un-amused laugh. "Our Zemma? Nap on duty? She's a better soldier than that."

"She isn't s soldier!" Riddick's words were quiet, but sharp, filled with irritation. "She doesn't need to be."

"So what's your excuse for not telling Jack? You told me to train her- I only train soldiers. Did you expect something else?"

"Jack's already a killer."

"So is Zemma. So are we all. If you aren't a predator, then you're prey… and dead."

Riddick answered this with silence.

Zemma's mind whirled with the implications of this bit of conversation. Is that why he wanted you to stop training with Jaron? He's been pretty reticent about working with you.

Just a series of unfortunate circumstances, Zemma thought back to the voice.

He doesn't want you to be a killer- like him, like Jack. Remember?

"I don't like your attitude, Riddick, _Sir_. A soldier doesn't need to know why he's been given a command, but he'll perform better if he does." Don sounded irate. "We don't need a hero, we need a leader."

"Then follow your orders, _soldier_," Riddick menaced. He made 'soldier' sound like a curse. His voice seemed closer, though she still couldn't see either man on the lone camera.

Zemma realized suddenly that she was, after all, eavesdropping. She snapped off the com before they came close enough to the wall unit to notice the com light was on. She didn't want to hear any more. Riddick's attitude and venom made her angry. Don didn't deserve it. Jack didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve it.

Zemma opened another personal program to divert herself. She started setting up a few distractions for Jack's watch: a few false reds to break up the monotony of all the greens.

Her mind kept going back to Don and Riddick. She still wasn't sure what they were up to, what they were looking for. She opened the ship's log that Don had been keeping since he arrived. What she found surprised her. That, and what Jack had told her, left only one possible conclusion.

Zemma had spent some solitary time exploring the ship and it's contents the first weeks on board, when there had been so much tension between them. She knew Riddick hadn't left or brought anything useful for ship's defenses, but that didn't mean they were defenseless. She closed the log and opened up ship's schematics. She had an idea.

A Monger idea.

* * *

Riddick arrived on time for his watch, not a moment sooner. He seemed brusque and edgy. Zemma debated broaching the subject of Jack. She tapped the log with one fingernail several times, slowly. Riddick glanced quickly from the corner of his eye and away again, never losing his composure. He never did. That damned confidence of his.

"Sensor spike? Course changes? What's behind us, Riddick?" Zemma kept her voice quiet.

"Probably just Jack's imagination in overdrive."

Apparently, Jack's imagination had a very big energy signature, she thought acerbically. Don had set up some security protocols before they left the last system, just paranoia habitualized, and caught an anomaly. Training Jack, and Zemma for that matter, had simply been a means to an end. Course changes, radiation scans, high-resolution sensors pointed at just the right angle… no mistake, there was something following them, no matter how implausible that was.

The oversized energy signature meant fast, and well armed. It could mean military; someone who recognized the Monger frigate for what it was and felt strongly enough about that to investigate. Or even something as mundane as a merc with the means to chase down the merchant captain who looked so improbably like Richard B. Riddick, gambling on a payday on top of the pirated salvage of their ship and cargo.

But what if Jack wasn't wrong about seeing Hypatia?

"There's something more here, Riddick, and you're going to have to tell me what. I don't like not knowing what's going on." Zemma let her voice carry over just how seriously she felt about this topic. She hated being left out.

"There's nothing to know."

"As much fun as it is to log six hours of 'all green', don't you think Jack and I could have handled knowing why we were doing it?" Zemma kept her voice and emotions in check.

The very control and coolness of her words caught Riddick's attention more than sarcasm or anger would have. "You've been sick," he shrugged a little and wouldn't look at her. "Go to bed, you look tired."

"Damn it, Riddick. I managed to survive a long time without your protection. Jack, too, for that matter. She's young, but she isn't stupid. 'Don't keep anything from me,' you told me. Explain to me why that doesn't work both ways."

Zemma saw the scarcest of emotions cross Riddick's features very briefly: guilt, and anger. She took a deep breath and tried to let the irony of the moment seep into her voice. "I'm starting to get why Jack is always so pissed at you." She tried to keep it light, to elicit something from him other than his stubbornness.

"Go to bed." It was no longer a request, but a demand. "I'll take care of everything."

Zemma kept her mouth clamped shut to keep the voice in her head from saying something that would worsen, rather than diffuse, the situation. When she still didn't move, Riddick turned slowly to look at her, his eyes shining in the dark like her own. They stared at each other, stubbornness and pride clouding the air between them.

The voice found it's way out.

"You'll take care of everything? You, by yourself?" Zemma ground her teeth closed, but the inner voice wasn't done. "Who designated you sole caretaker of universe at large?"

Riddick's face, already stony, turned cold as he turned away from her. Zemma felt a sudden stab of angst. This wasn't how she had wanted this conversation to go. She reached out to touch his shoulder when he spoke again.

"Imam did. Carolyn did… Your father did."

Zemma's fingers curled into a ball. Her heart, or her stomach, balled up too. His voice carried so much torment, and so much impatience.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Would she have to start over winning his respect and acceptance every time she had a minor setback? Yes, she understood Jack quite well, right now. She wanted to say something, anything, that would bridge the distance that was so suddenly created between them. She simply lacked the words and experience to say the right thing.

What she wanted was to tell him how much she loved him, even now; that he could trust her. She knew she could only expect more silence. She couldn't bear that. It would be bad enough to go to bed alone again tonight. She un-balled her fist and reach out again, to touch him lightly on the shoulder, an apology on her lips, though she wasn't completely sure what she'd actually done wrong. She could see his face reflected on the screen before him, could see her hand there too…

He turned suddenly away from her, seemingly engrossed in another row of green lights and digital read-outs. There was nothing changed, except that he was slightly out of her reach.

Zemma fled from the presence of her lover to the solitude of the ship. Again.

* * *

The next day was especially tense to Zemma. Riddick was avoiding her, and Don for that matter. Don seemed more irritable, even, than usual. And Jack, who certainly must have picked up on everyone's emotions, and quite possibly the log clues as well, became reserved and edgy around them all: a leery cat with a nervous tick in her tail.

On top of this, Don attacked Jack without warning. The first time, he simply walked up to her and said "Remember yesterday I told you to be on guard every moment of every day?"

"Sure" Jack said in a surly tone.

He hit her, closed fist, in the midsection, doubling her over in a fit of dry heaves. "Pitiful" he said as he walked away.

Zemma sighed. Was it was a Furyan trait, or just a soldier's response to the unbearable tension of an unsolvable problem? Jack's training had just been elevated to the lesson of 'Now.'


	31. Indescribable

**31. Something Indescribable**

Zemma woke up alone, again. She didn't like it, didn't want to get used to it, ag…

She shut off the voice that kept accentuating that this wasn't the first time Riddick had become unfathomably distant. 'Nature of the beast' wasn't helping her understand. 'Tiger, Tiger" wasn't helping her deal with it. She didn't have Jaron to ask for advice.

Don was out of the question. He was treating her respectfully, which she cherished, because, well, he was Don. But she couldn't talk to him about her relationship with Riddick, because, well, he was Don. Her mind just kept whirling around the impossibilities of trying to talk to him about something so personal. So, it took her a few minutes to realize the obvious.

Jack. She could talk to Jack! Should she talk to Jack? She wasn't sure. She didn't think Riddick would like it, but right now he didn't seem to like anything. More importantly though, would it be fair to Jack? How wrapped up in her childhood hero was she now?

Zemma decided to risk at least the start of a conversation with Jack about Riddick. She showered and dressed and headed for the galley. Jack would be off shift by now.

Jack was asleep at the table when Zemma got there. She decided to let the girl nap a little, while she choked down some breakfast. She sighed wistfully, wishing Don would cook more often. He and Riddick seemed to be awfully preoccupied, though. She wondered where Riddick was right now.

She heard footsteps coming down the corridor and her heart jumped a little at the sound. She thought she was probably being foolish, but she would be glad to have another chance to…

The rhythm wasn't right, and Don, not Riddick, walked into the galley. He nodded to her and even said good morning. Zemma smiled back at him, wondering why he wasn't glued to his chair on the bridge deck. He made some tea, contemplating Jack's back. Zemma didn't like the look on his face: lessons would start early today.

So much for a heart to heart with Jack.

Don cleared his throat, Jack didn't move. Zemma just waited. He did it again, a little louder, as he walked up behind her. Jack slept on, snoring slightly. Zemma wished she could warn the girl, but while Jaron had never taken this exact approach with her, she understood it. Jaron had tested the speed of Zemma's mind, knowing her Furyan reflexes could be trained up. Don had the more daunting task of training Jack beyond her abilities...

…To make her a better predator.

Zemma knew something about predators; Nor slept lightly, her speed and strength always only half a second from being released, even when she appeared unaware. It had been a game Zemma had watched, as Mab had tried to stalk the old queen. It had been the lesson Nor had taught the cub when _she_ stalked _him_.

Don kicked Jack's chair out from under the girl. She came up like a wildcat, sheer fury in her face. It did her no good to be angry. Don caught her by the throat, lifter her off the ground and looked into her eyes, as she pounded his face with her fists. "At least try," he said pitiably, then he threw her over the counter, and walked out.

Zemma walked around the counter, her plastic tray of grainy eggs still in hand. Jack was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to giggle.

"Did he do this to you, too? Or is this some kind of Furyan mating ritual?"

Zemma was glad to hear Jack's humor wasn't too badly bruised with the rest of her. "I trained with Jaron," Zemma told her simply, not sure what to elaborate on.

"Then what the fuck?"

Zemma sat down next to Jack. "Eggs?"

"Any power bars left?"

"I think you have the last of them stashed someplace," Zemma grinned at the girl. "I know you aren't sleeping in your cabin."

Jack sat up quickly, suspicion on her face. "What do you mean?"

"Don't worry. I don't think the boys have noticed."

"Notice what?" She tried to sound innocent.

Zemma patted Jack's hand. "You take your com chip with you, but I know how to trace the open circuits. Tell my why you do it, and I'll explain what Don's doing."

Jack smiled wryly. "I didn't know you had an evil streak in you," she sounded almost impressed.

"Riddick says I'm more Monger than Furyan," Zemma smiled back, trying to make it sound like a compliment, and not the painful insult she'd taken it as.

"Hypatia used to lock me in. It's just a habit, now, when I have to sleep alone, to sleep someplace secret."

"I thought it might be something like that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"To see if you'd tell me."

Jack snorted. "Your turn."

"Don's training you in the Now. Has he mentioned that at all?"

"No. He just tells me how slow and stupid I am."

Zemma sighed. This might take awhile. Her conversation about Riddick would have to wait.

* * *

Jack caught on to the pseudo-religious warrior's belief very quickly, but seemed to have a thousand questions that Zemma didn't feel adequate to answer. She tried anyway, and only felt less and less Furyan for her efforts. When it had just been she and her father, she thought she knew and understood all that it meant to be Furyan. Faced with more Furyans, those who'd actually lived on Fury, and Jack's constant barrage of questions, Zemma felt her comfortable sense of self shifting sideways. It made her feel edgy.

Riddick was right; she really was more Monger than Furyan.

At least, right now, Monger ideas might help them. She went in search of either Don or Riddick to explain her thoughts. She found Riddick first, almost lost inside a wall of wiring, and cussing up a storm.

"Can't fucking use the secondaries. What the fuck use is having extra engines if you can't fucking use 'em?"

Zemma followed the sound of the voice she'd grown to love into the narrow passage strung with a vast assortment of wiring and conduits.

"Riddi…"

"God-damn it! What the hell do you want?"

Zemma's mouth snapped shut and her mental armor snapped up. She forced her way through the tangle until she nearly bumped into him, her lenses were no help in the dark, she couldn't see through the tightly packed wires. She felt Riddick's hand clamp down on her upper arm.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Thought I'd ask you the same question," she snapped back. "Didn't Don already tell you it was useless to try to make a ship to ship weapon this way?"

"How the hell do you know about that?"

"I think the question is, why did I have to find out instead of hearing it from you?"

They were nearly nose-to-nose, though he towered over her by a head. Their raised voices muted by the web of electrical harnesses packed tightly around them.

"Spying again?" Riddick's sneer struck Zemma painfully with guilt.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just fucking talk to me!"

Not going to apologize, not going to apologize, not going to apologize!

"And tell you what? That there might be something following us, and it might be dangerous, and we might have to fight it after I ripped out all the weapons. How's that going to help?" Zemma could hear frustration in Riddick's voice, along with self-anger.

"If you weren't such an arrogant prick…" Zemma didn't get to finish her sentence. Riddick's hand suddenly cut off her air as he grasped her throat.

"I told you not to call me that anymore," he growled, still almost nose to nose with her. His eyes glinted furiously; Zemma stared into them without blinking.

She brought her hand up, she didn't know if it was to slap him or try to drag his hand off her throat. After his initial grasp, that had startled her to wordlessness, he wasn't holding her painfully tight, but she was angry…and something else… something indescribable.

Riddick caught her hand, pulled it over her head, and tangled it in some wiring there. His other hand left her throat long enough to drag her other wrist up and do the same thing, before returning to her throat in almost a caress.

"You don't understand," he spoke softly to his captive audience. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head as if he didn't understand himself. "I've never been responsible for anyone but myself. I've never had to try to protect anyone…" He shook his head, again, this time looking away from her, perhaps into his past. His hand stroked her throat absently.

Zemma felt that unutterable thrill at his light touch, along with a simple understanding: she knew why Riddick was so edgy. She wasn't the only one whose simple sense of self had taken a sudden turn into uncharted territory. She didn't try to tell him she appreciated his dilemma. She waited for him.

He looked back into her face after just a moment. "I never wanted to be a hero," he sounded a little angry again, and Zemma felt his hand tighten a moment in reaction. She leaned into him a little, feeling that strange sensation, that pleasurable little buzz. She tipped her hips against his.

"Riddick…" she whispered.

"What?" He still seemed irascible, but he was back fully in the Now with her.

She leaned against his hand, and he gave way a little, she tipped her lips towards his ear and whispered, "I know how to make a weapon."

His head snapped away from her cheek so he could look into her eyes, seeking the lie. His hand slid up her neck to her cheek. "What?" He was hopeful, but disbelieving.

Zemma smiled for the first time in what seemed like days. "Don't stop touching me like that, and I'll tell you how you don't have to be the only hero on this ship."

Riddick's hand slid back to its place on her throat, a curious smile on his lips. Zemma sighed and closed her eyes, not understanding why she felt this way but not wanting it to stop. She felt his lips graze her own, trail down to her jaw line, and up to her ear. "Tell me," he whispered.

"Mmm," she hedged, taking a moment to tease him now.

He shook her lightly; his teeth dug into her neck a little. "Tell me," he almost growled, but Zemma could hear the difference in it. He was enjoying the moment too.

Zemma lifted her knee, rubbing up the inside of his leg. "Promise me," she breathed heavily, "that you'll talk to me from now on."

The hand that had been holding her wrists bound above her head let go, but she wasn't released from the tangle. He stroked down the inside of her arm, across her breast, causing her to inhale sharply in reaction. His hand snaked around behind her back, he pulled her sharply against him. He kissed her, thoroughly. "Tell me," he commanded, and this time his voice held promises she couldn't resist.

Riddick kissed her, and Zemma melted into him. The voice in the back of her head tried to remind her she'd been pissed, but she ignored it. She whispered her idea in his ear.

Whatever reaction she expected from him, it wasn't what she got. He pulled her free of the wiring and dragged her out of the wall in search of Don.

* * *

"We have three grav-tubes."

Don shook his head. "No. Can't be done. I already looked at those." Don didn't yell, he had too much control for that. "They can't be converted from the secondary engines they're tied to…"

"You're wrong," Zemma insisted. "If we build a regulator…" She tried to be calm, but she knew she wasn't mistaken about this.

"No. Even if your could build a regulator, you cannot put enough power through them to make a dent in another ship."

"Of course, they're lifts, not real gravity guns, that's not the point." Zemma called up the schematic she'd studied the night before. "Look, here…" She pointed to the screen. "If you can move all three of those tubes here, I can route the mains here, with a regulator."

"It wont have enough punch! It won't even cause hull damage to an enemy vessel."

"Then we use it to propel something that will."

Light dawned on him suddenly. He thought for a moment, and then he used a data pad and ran some figures. "We make a anti grav canon, not a real grav-gun." It was part question and part statement.

"No," Zemma smiled. "We make three of them."

"You sure you can make this regulator work?"

Zemma only raised an eyebrow in response; she wouldn't have brought it up if she weren't sure she could do it.

Don turned slowly to Riddick. "Now do we tell Jack?"

"No." Riddick remained stony. "These are just precautions. We may not need a weapon at all. She doesn't need to worry, just focus on her studies."

Zemma frowned at the tension between these two on this subject. She realized it was becoming an old argument. Don was ready to elevate Jack to the status of equal, but Riddick was determined to keep her a child. The men stared at each other a moment longer, and it was Don who finally backed down: perhaps the habit of being second in command.

"I'll get to work. We'll need to do this in shifts. I'll let you know when we can get started." He turned sharply and walked off the bridge deck, leaving Riddick to his watch. Zemma decided it wasn't the time to advocate on Jack's behalf. Later…

She reached out, and he let her melt up against him.

"Go to bed," he said as he kissed the top of her head. "You did good. We'll have a lot to do tomorrow."

"But…" she started.

His hand stroked her throat. "I'll wake you up at the end of my watch."

Zemma sighed.


	32. Strange Sensations

Zemma woke to the sound of the water running in the shower. She stretched and smiled to herself, thinking of Riddick's naked body in the next room, and his hands on her the day before. She ran her fingers lightly along her throat, thinking about the strange sensations she felt when Riddick had clutched her there. She stretched languidly, naked under the covers, and dozed lightly, erotic dreams drifting in and out of her consciousness. She awoke when Riddick sat heavily on the edge of the bed. She reached out, letting her fingers trace lightly along the muscles in his back.

"Come to bed…" she whispered, invitingly.

"In a minute." He didn't sound very interested; he sounded tense.

Zemma moved closer, and continued to work on his back. "Let me help you relax," she murmured. He didn't lean back into her hands or sigh contentedly as she expected. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said shortly. "Just tired."

Zemma sighed. "Just lay down…"

"Go back to sleep." He sounded distant again. "You need more rest."

"I'm fine." Zemma's tone was a little sharper than she meant it to be. "Quit treating me like an invalid."

"Quit pushing yourself so hard." His voice was soft, meant to be kind.

"You first." Now Zemma was feeling downright churlish.

Riddick turned on the bed. "What's your problem?"

Zemma sat up. "You. You are my problem. You pull away from me, quit talking to me. What the hell did I do to deserve that? How do I fix it?"

"You don't get to 'fix' me." Now he sounded tired and irritable too. Zemma didn't feel better for having instigated that mood, but damn it she wasn't going to apologize again.

She flopped back on the bed, snorted out her nose and crossed her arms, staring at the ceiling.

Not gonna cry…not gonna cry…not gonna cry…

She could feel Riddick staring at her but she wouldn't look back.

"I don't need a bunch of childish shit from you right now." His voice was very low and cold.

"Fuck you."

"Not likely."

Zemma wanted to scream. Why did this keep happening? What were they even fighting about? It seemed as if she couldn't read him at all, had no idea what was wrong with him, or if it was her. Anger and angst warred, the voices in her head overlapping each other and making it even harder to think straight.

"You're not going to make me cry, asshole," she said through gritted teeth.

"You know I hate it when you call me that," he sounded as tightly controlled as she did.

"I hate it when you shut me out and make me feel alone," she hissed back. The words threatened to tip her over from angry to desperate. She bit her tongue to hide her tears in the pain, and counted her heartbeats till they slowed a little.

"I don't _make_ you feel anything. And I didn't shut you out. You've been sick and I've been busy." He almost made it sound reasonable, despite his clenched jaw and obvious irritation.

"I've been better for days." She thought she sounded petulant again, didn't know how to change it. It made her even angrier, but at herself now.

"You think you're better. I think you're pushing yourself too hard."

"I think you're pushing me away."

"Because I didn't jump you the first day you weren't puking your guts up?"

Zemma felt herself blushing. Was she just mad because he wouldn't have sex with her when she wanted it? She covered her face with her hands.

"Shit," she said under her palms.

Riddick snorted, it might have been amusement. "C'mere." He pulled her towards him. Zemma curled up against his chest but wouldn't look him in the face. He stroked her hair. Zemma clutched at him. He stroked her back, then lifted her chin to look at him. The only light came from the bathroom but he didn't have his lenses up.

Neither spoke. It was a long moment. Zemma wanted to say something, something scary: something that would break the spell of tension and make everything better. She just didn't know if it would be met with more silence, or more tension.

"Riddick…"

"I know."

"You do, huh?" A wry smile escaped her control. "Then…will you, please… touch me like you did yesterday?"

His hand traced down her cheek to her neck and laid there lightly, his fingertips barely exerting any pressure… but the feeling, the indescribable one, flooded back and washed away everything else. Zemma sighed.

"I can't help it that I want you," she whispered. She kept looking into his eyes, looking for some indication that he wouldn't push her away if she admitted how strongly he made her feel things she couldn't explain. His eyes crinkled slightly in amusement.

"I cant help it that I worry about you," he replied in all seriousness. It was a powerful admission. Zemma's heart beat faster and she felt her control slipping.

"You're gonna make me cry, sweet talking me like that," she tried a smile.

"Don't wanna do that…" Now the smile crept to his mouth.

Zemma let her fingers wander over his naked torso. She felt his muscles twitch a little in reaction. "What do you want to do?"

"Zem, I want to sleep a little, okay?" He sounded apologetic and exhausted. He put a hand to her face. "It's fine to ask, but sometimes the answer might be 'no'."

"When you wake up…?" she started hesitantly.

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly. "Yes."

"Hold me while you fall asleep?" She could wait; more than anything she just wanted to feel close to him, and wanted the tension between them to be gone.

"Yes." He shifted around, never letting her go, and lay down beside her.

Zemma stroked his face and neck lightly. "Thank you."

Riddick closed his eyes and sighed contentedly at her touch. "I'm sorry, Zem. Sometimes I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Me too," she whispered. She was shocked at his admission, and warmed by it. He pulled her tighter against him and she kissed his chin. "Go to sleep, my love," she told him softly. She was amazed at the highs and lows he could bring her to, the total lack of self-control she felt around him. She breathed in the smell of him, and let herself doze.

She woke a few hours later. Riddick appeared to be having a nightmare, though he wasn't thrashing. His brow was creased, his jaw tense, his muscles twitching, he made a small angry sounding grunt as if he were fighting. Zemma stroked his shoulder and arm, "Shhhh. Shhhh. I'm here," she whispered, not sure if she should wake him from the dream. But he settled back to sleep without ever waking. She stared at his peaceful face and felt all her emotions about him welling up again, crashing over her. She was drowning at the sight of him. "I love you," she whispered, just to hear the words she was afraid to say out loud to him. It felt good.

She drew her fingers across the muscles of his chest, thrilling at the sensations it caused her when he sighed in his sleep at her touch. "I love you, Richard Bennet Riddick," she said quietly, so she wouldn't wake him. She couldn't stop touching him. Her pulse quickened, and she thought guiltily that maybe she couldn't wait for him. Her fingers roamed further down, and she expected his eyes to fly open any second.

They didn't. And she didn't stop. She lightly caressed his stomach, then going lower. She brought her head to his chest and teased his nipple into hardness with her tongue. He moaned and Zemma froze, afraid she'd gone too far. But he didn't seem to wake and she felt bolder. Zemma's breath quicken along with her heart. She felt so brazen.

She stroked and pulled very slowly at him, exhilarating at his response to her, even asleep. He moaned again, perhaps dreaming in time to her hand now, but his breathing stayed deep and even. Zemma sucked at his nipple a moment, then moved her head down a little, feeling his muscles with her lips, enjoying the slightly salty taste of his skin. She moved further down, thinking of the Lady kneeling before Riddick, taking him in her mouth… it had made Zemma feel strange to see it. She had always wanted to try it, but he had pulled her away before, saying most women didn't like to do that.

Zemma thought again, 'I'm not most women…' She trembled as she brought her lips to him.

He tasted different here too, but not bad. She loved everything about him, even this now.

She knew he was going to wake up, was afraid of his reaction to what she was doing, but didn't want to stop. One of his hands found her hair there and tangled in it.

"Zem…?" He murmured sleepily.

"Shhhh. You're dreaming," she told him quietly, and smiled secretly to herself. Would he fall back asleep? Would he wake up and stop her? She held him gently in her hand and didn't move under the sheets. He stroked her head a moment, and his breathing slowed back down again. She counted, slowly, letting him drift off, thinking it was only a fantasy.

When she dared, she moved her hand on him again, slowly, softly, enjoying the feel as he hardened under her fingers. She couldn't have said in words how she felt, except excited. She wanted to take him all into herself. His other hand found her hair and he groaned more loudly. Zemma's heart soared at the sound. Her breathing increased in tempo with his. She moaned against him.

"Oh, God…" he mumbled sleepily.

'Oh, God!' She thought. The fear of waking him increased her exhilaration. What would happen if he did? And what would happen if he didn't?

He had to be waking up now, realizing it wasn't a dream. She grasped him more tightly in her hand, afraid he would pull her away. The sound he made delighted her.

"God, Zemma…" he breathed heavily. "What… are… you doing…?" But he didn't pull her away. She wished she could tell him she loved him right then. He gasped. They both groaned, caught in the same rhythm.

Riddick untangled his fingers and tried to pull her head away from him gently. With her free hand, Zemma clutched at his arm, dug her nails into the muscle there until he stopped resisting her. She felt his excitement, shared his pleasure, found herself moaning in time with him. Then he twisted away from her…

"Stop!" He pulled her off of him as he curled around and drug her up by the shoulders. She almost burst out in tears, what had she done wrong? He was still panting, starting to tremble a little, her hands clutched at him. "Come here." He pulled her up to him and kissed her forehead, her eyes, down her cheek to her neck. "I want you," he breathed against her skin as he pinned her to the bed.

"Richard…" she whispered back. She'd meant to say, 'I love you,' but all she could do is whisper the name she'd never used before. "Richard… Richard…"

Time stopped and her universe was reduced to only those places where they touched. Words were beyond them both, there was only sound until he collapsed on her, panting in time with her.

Zemma clutched at him, stroking his head and face; on the verge of happy tears and wishing she could say anything. Riddick pulled his weight off her, leaning on his elbow but leaving his face against her chest, kissing her lightly there. His body covering hers felt so right, she wished he would fall asleep there so she could stay as close as possible.

"Thank you," she finally managed to say. It still wasn't all she wanted to say. _That_ still hung in the air between them. He picked his head up to look at her in the dim light, questioningly. He brought one hand to cup her face.

"I can't believe you did that," he said softly, fondly. "You are the strangest woman I've ever met."

She kissed his palm. "I know," she smiled.


	33. Not So Alone

They dozed in each other's arms for a while longer. Zemma felt much better; maybe she _had_ been angry about not having sex when she wanted it? Still, there were some issues she wanted cleared up. When Riddick's breathing changed and she was sure he was awake but pretending to be asleep, she stroked his cheek lightly.

"Have you been reading that journal you make me write every day?"

"I told you I wouldn't."

"Then how did you know I was exercising?"

Riddick suppressed a grin. "I saw you looking in the mirror, making a muscle, and poking your bicep." He peeked one eye open at her, laughter in his gravelly voice, but not letting it come out and insult her. "Women only do that for one reason."

Zemma snorted. She'd thought he had his back to her in the shower that time.

Riddick's brow creased a little. "And running with Jack. How could I not notice that? You two thumping up and down all the ramps, slamming the doors behind you. You're getting too thin, Zemma." He opened both eyes to stare her into hers. "I can see your ribs, and your hip bones are sticking out." He stroked her collarbone and shoulder.

Zemma thought her collarbones were looking a little too obvious too, it was why she had started doing push ups in the first place, to put some muscle in her shoulders.

"Jack's thin…" she started lamely.

"Jack likes to try to pass for a boy. I don't sleep with boys. You need to eat more." He sounded very serious and concerned.

"Bleh. I hate rations. They taste nasty. They're grainy..."

"But they're good for you. Everything good for you tastes bad."

"Steak and lobster are good for you," Zemma faked a little pout.

"Get some of those protein bars, they aren't too bad."

"They're all gone."

"Jack must have stashed em, she couldn't possibly have eaten them all. Make her give em up. Kick her in the head if you have to."

Zemma smiled at the thought and sighed. "Jack was right about me. I had it easy on the Basilica."

"No one likes rations, Zem. You buy em because they're cheap and last forever. You eat em because you gotta. Eat what you can, sleep when you can; you never know how long you'll have to go without."

Zemma heard the past creeping into Riddick's voice. He was speaking from hard experience and she realized he must have eaten things she'd never consider, or maybe even imagine. "I'll do better," she sighed.

"That's my girl."

Zemma melted into him. She loved those words. "I wish Don would cook more."

"He wishes _we_ could cook at all. But whatever it takes, I want you eating more. You cant build up a muscle," he squeezed her upper arm gently. "If your body is eating it for lunch."

* * *

Zemma hoped to still have that talk with Jack about Riddick even though she felt things were better between them, but never had the chance. Don wasn't happy Zemma had slept in with Riddick, and pulled her away from the breakfast table as soon as he saw her. She took her plate of grainy eggs with her.

At the bridge, Don called up her original schematic and then overlaid his own program.

"Zemma, this regulator… it's never going to work."

"Of course it will. It wont work as well as just keeping the tubes tied to the secondaries, but it will work."

"The power will overload the regulators after each use, they'll burn up." He pointed at the math.

Zemma sighed. She knew this. She was a tech, like her dad. "Of course they will, that's their purpose, not to overload the tubes, but filter up to every watt they can take. I figure we can make as many as we need. Reloading the cannons won't be quick, popping in the new circuitry won't take much more time. But…"

"You created a system meant to fail?"

"Of course not, they will work perfectly within their parameters, but that's not the point… we don't really need them, we can keep the tubes tied to the secondaries and the tubes will work just as well… I've even been thinking about how to make…"

"Then why bring up the regulators, Zemma?" He seemed more curious than curt.

Zemma didn't blush, or miss a beat. "Because Riddick wanted weapons off the mains. You told him he couldn't have weapons off the secondaries." Zemma kept a straight face.

Don blinked. Then he barked out a short laugh. "You knew all along we didn't need regulators to make this work."

Zemma dropped him a slow wink, rather like Jaron sometimes gave her when she was especially quick learning something. Don barked out another short laugh. Two in a row, he might not be able to laugh again for a month.

"He loves you too, you know." Don actually smiled a little. That is, his eyes crinkled, and one side of this mouth tweaked upwards briefly.

That shocked Zemma to speechlessness. She looked at Don as if she had never seen him before. Well, that wasn't quite true, she looked at him with much more emotion showing than that. She would have kept her poker face for a stranger.

He snorted at the lack of expression on Zemma's face. "You thought I didn't notice? Or couldn't?" He asked her dryly.

This time it was the corner of Zemma's mouth that tugged up. Don appeared to notice that the half smile didn't extend to her eyes: his narrowed.

"You _do_ know he loves you, right?" His eyebrows rose a little in apparent surprise.

"I wouldn't go that far…" Zemma started out quietly, suddenly looking at the deck. "I know he feels something for me…"

Don nodded but Zemma didn't see it right away, still engrossed in the plas-flooring. He reached out to lift her chin, to meet her eyes with his.

"It's not easy for a man to say it for the first time, child," he told her soothingly.

"Have you…ever said it?" Zemma was emboldened by the strange look of compassion on Don's face. He smiled with his whole face this time, his eyes looking far away…into the past.

"Yes," he started slowly. "I was a young man for a long time. I said it more often than I meant it." He glanced at her, eyes sparkling, but seeking out any disapproval in this admittance. He didn't find any. "I hope I'll get to say it again in my mid-life; I hope I'll mean it enough for it to last into my old age."

He dropped his hand from her chin when he continued. "Riddick… I know his kind. He'll only say it once in his lifetime, but he'll mean it forever."

Zemma felt herself blushing. Don had never spoken so much on such a personal level. She wondered if perhaps she _could_ talk to him of matters of her heart.

"Why do we fight so much?" Zemma hadn't intended to actually speak, but once she'd decided she might, she simply did. She'd blurted out what was on her mind, as she seemed to do more and more these days. Tears of anxiousness and simultaneous relief sprang into her eyes and she blinked them away quickly.

Don smiled again, his eyes searching her face. "Do you think you should never fight? A woman like you… a man like him?"

When Zemma didn't respond, didn't know how to respond, he went on, much to Zemma's ever growing surprise.

"How long were you on your own Zemma? I don't mean after the Purifier left on his fatal mission. I mean before that. You said he reached a point where he no longer spoke to you?"

"Yes,' she hesitated. The years seemed much greater spoken out loud. Her voice and her eyes dropped again. "A decade. He barely spoke to me at all for the last decade."

Don tsk'ed. "For years, you were on your own, dealing with no one, handling everything yourself."

Zemma nodded.

"You keep everything inside you, hidden. Except for him. Everything spills out of you when you're around him."

"How do you know?" She whispered, looking up again, staring at the stranger sitting opposite her. How could he know? Don, who seemed so closed and cold to everything and everyone…

He chucked, and she automatically counted it as number three. She decided she liked his soft derisive snort, which indicated amusement in a man who never otherwise showed any humor.

"I was young once. And I witnessed a great deal of love in my lifetime before the Mongers." Now he looked away, and Zemma thought he might be looking backwards again. "You remind me of someone. She always said what was on her mind too. She always knew what she wanted. She always seemed to know what to do…"

"But I never…" Zemma whispered desperately. She didn't think that described her at all. She'd been confused and frustrated for months; ever since she'd met Riddick, he'd thrown her completely out of her element.

Don patted her knee. His face returned from reminiscing to businesslike. "Tell me again about this cannon of yours."

Relieved, Zemma explained. Shortly, she was talking excitedly about the project. Don seemed to follow the technical jargon, nodding often, and she could see in his eyes when he leaped ahead of her words, but he allowed her to finish. He asked sharp questions, and offered clever improvements.

"I didn't know you were a tech," Zemma commented finally. Her respect for him increased even beyond how much the heart to heart had impressed her.

"I wasn't much, before the Mongers," he told her wryly, his eyes twinkling from the irony of anything good coming from the NecroMongers. "I was a… software… geek…"

Zemma didn't understand the term he used so self-depreciatingly, but returned his smile as he continued.

"Communications, surveillance, intelligence… But I had to learn a lot more to keep an eye on the Mongers without them keeping an eye on me. Thirty years is enough time to learn anything."

Zemma nodded. He potentially knew a lot more than her about some systems, certainly it was enough to keep her from detecting his and the other Furyan presences on board the ships for all those years. He seemed to read her mind, or maybe just her eyes.

"No, child, I wouldn't have thought of this myself. My skills were always geared toward watching, not creating. But once you started explaining, I could see where you were going with it. It'll work, not like a conventional weapon, but certainly effective."

* * *

Don went to work immediately on Zemma's ideas while she finished out her shift. Jack was nowhere to be seen on the monitors, but Zemma knew her location anyway - and assumed Don did too, or would if he suspected anything amiss.

Zemma checked Jack's homework and worried the girl would never learn more than 'basic' math. Certainly she showed no aptitude for the stuff that made up navigation. Still, Zemma reminded herself, the girl made improvements every day; impressive for someone with essentially no education what so ever.

Zemma wracked her brain to create more homework. Being a teacher was far more challenging than she ever would have thought possible. She rather understood Don snacking her in the back of the head when he was teaching her to pilot. Sometimes, when Jack seemed to completely forget what she was doing from one problem to the next, Zemma wanted to knock her in the back of the head too.

She took a break from what she considered her 'real' work, to scan through the 'make work' of the ship's systems and the tasks Don had left for her to do. All green. Zemma created a few trickier false reds for Jack later, and debated setting up a few for the boys just for a laugh. She decided Don wouldn't be fooled but might appreciate the humor, now that she knew he had some. She spent over an hour creating a ghost in the system that Don _might _overlook if he were actually busy. She made another, more obvious, one for Riddick to chase, if he bothered.

The she started scanning through the ship's monitors to see where everyone was hiding.

Don, as expected, was head first in an open control panel. When she keyed open the comm. she could hear him swearing, but almost pleasantly, as if he enjoyed the challenge and fully expected to win over the stubborn equipment.

It made her wonder if it was another common trait of Furyans, or just the men in her company: to always assume they would succeed.

She also wondered about the mystery woman Don had referred to… was it someone he, himself, had loved? She didn't think of Don as capable of such a thing before. Zemma certainly didn't have the idea that he was in love with her. His words had been of admiration, not longing.

Zemma found Riddick and Jack sparring in the cargo hold. Zemma was impressed with the girl's progress there too. She seemed faster, unquestionably more fluid and relaxed: telegraphing less. She must have said something funny because Riddick stopped in his tracks to laugh that huge diaphragm to the ceiling laugh that she liked to hear so much. She hit the comm. quickly, just to hear it.

Jack reacted to the change in the ready light from red to green with a twitch of her head in that direction followed by a wink towards the camera. She didn't comment to Riddick, who missed both movements. Zemma's brief stab of jealousy that Jack had been the one to elicit such a reaction from Riddick was replaced with friendly conspiracy. Jack knew Zemma was watching and listening. Jack was her friend, not her rival.

Zemma felt good: not so alone on the huge flight deck; not so at odds with Jack for Riddick's attentions.


	34. Lights Out

**34. Lights Out**

Jack wasn't having it so easy, though it wasn't apparent to Zemma on the camera. Riddick had been rough on her, not laughing at any of her jokes, or cutting her the smallest amount of slack in their sparring. The last joke was purely so bawdy and improbable that even Riddick couldn't resist laughing at it, giving Jack a much-needed breather.

The comm. light went from red to green, catching Jack's eye. Zemma was on duty, and listening in. Jack was rather glad she had missed the joke itself. She would have been embarrassed to have Zemma know Jack could say such things… or worse, have to explain it to her later. Jack threw a quick glance and wink at the camera.

"C'mon Old Man, you don't get to rest. Bring it." Jack hoped her bravado wouldn't be read as false as she felt it. She was the one who needed a break. Riddick never seemed to tire.

"Lights, off!" He suddenly called out, pitching them into pitch black except for the soft green glow by the door, cast by the tiny comm. light. Jack dived straight sideways, hoping to miss whatever Riddick was throwing at her next, and scrambled across the floor.

Riddick's softer laugh followed her. "Not very elegant, but you moved quick enough." His voice gave only the slightest impression of being pleased.

"Fucker," Jack responded. "You're cheating. You can still see me."

"Mmm hmm." Riddick's self-satisfied tone was a little closer. Jack scrambled back on all fours.

"Stop." Riddick's voice commanded from just a few feet away now. "Use your head, Jack. I can see you, but you have to shut your trap long enough to listen for me." His voice was moving left.

Jack stood slowly, cocking her head towards where the last syllable trailed off. But heard a boot scuff ahead of her, as if he had turned back and was heading to her right now. She threw a kick where she thought he might be if he continued his slow pace that way.

Riddick caught it and threw her to the ground. "Very good. Don would have broke this…" he gave her foot a painful twist before letting her go again. "Try again." His voice was a little further away now.

Jack jumped up, with an irritated snort.

"Quiet." Riddick whispered, now behind her. Jack got her breathing under control with that stupid trick Don showed her, without even realizing at first that she'd done it.

"Better." Another whisper from the dark: he was circling behind on her left again. Jack pivoted, not letting her boots scrape on the textured flooring, and went into a defensive stance. One foot planted behind her, the other pointing forward, lightly set. She brought her hands up and resisted the urge to sigh.

She listened.

A tiny click, it could have been anything; the squeak of his leather boots, or the tiny electronic signal that Zemma had turned off the comm. Jack didn't wait to determine which, she spun around, leg shooting forward and low to catch his feet, and followed with what she hoped would be a block. He would see it coming, but maybe he would give her points for trying.

She felt the shock of her foot meeting an unmovable object. Riddick laughed again, but in a pleased sort of way, Jack thought. He tipped her over from her unbalanced position and she crashed, at least a little less painfully this time, to the floor.

"You don't mass enough to use that move on me, haven't you learned anything from Don?" His voice floated down from above her.

Jack growled, slapped the hard plastic floor with both palms, and bounced to her feet again, but the whisper of air told her he'd moved again already. "Lights. On!" She cried out, hoping to catch him blinded by the sudden change with his lenses up.

The room stayed inky and silent.

"Prick." She commented quietly, and listened carefully for his response as she took a stance.

He chuckled. Jack spun. But she knew he wasn't there already. She turned slowly, moving her feet as if she were walking in a pool of honey, slowly, careful to step without losing her balance. He would try that same sweep on her now, she thought.

A tiny scrape of rubber on plastic… his foot was sweeping towards her from behind. Jack leaped straight up in the air, one leg jack-knifing behind her and she was satisfied with the impact that caused him to blow out all the air he was holding, and propelled her forward into a head roll away from him. She bounced to her feet before she came to a stop and held her own breath, listening.

A smattering of light applause came from where she thought the door should still be. Jack held her position. Even Riddick couldn't have moved that fast after getting nailed in the solar plexus. The voice she had come to loathe floated on the darkness like a lethal fog.

"Zemma says you're late for your shift, Sir. I'll take over here."

"Fuck." Jack clapped a hand quickly over her errant mouth.

Riddick laughed again, a little more sadistically, Jack thought. "Lights, on!" She called out desperately: still no response. Jack felt a little panicky. Don had been pushing her harder and harder, and leaving bruises for every little mistake. She was dog meat, if… Jack noticed the comm. light was still on green.

"Zemma! Turn on the lights!" In the deafening hush Jack suddenly added desperately, "Please!"

Zemma's calm voice, tinny from the electronic receiver, spoke from the direction of the comm. "Don, you cheat… Jack, he locked all the lights off with a password."

"Hack it!" Jack didn't like hearing the high, frantic squeak to her voice.

"Jaaack…" Zemma's smooth, consoling tone sudden cut off as Don'sshadow manually turned off the comm. "I told you to be ready for anything, kid." His voice trailed away down the equally black corridor, leaving Jack alone.

It took a minute before Jack realized the showdown wasn't going to happen right there in the cargo hold. She made her way to the door, a few feet to the right of the tiny red glow of the comm. light. Soon she could make out the darker portal against the faint crimson shine on the walls. She stopped and held her breath, listening.

Nothing, but the sounds of the ship. "Lights, on," she tried quietly. No response. She reached for the manual controls on the immediate right of the door. The switch clicked ineffectively. Don really had shut them all down. If Zemma didn't hack the password before Riddick got there, the sadistic asshole would leave Jack to scramble around in the dark like a rat.

"Fucker," she hissed under her breath, hoping Don wasn't close enough to hear her. There was no cruel retort, no painful blow from the shadows that surrounded her completely. Jack took a hesitant step into the hall, listened again, and walked a short way, fingers trailing lightly along the wall.

She'd just gained enough confidence to stride along at nearly a normal pace when her foot caught on something and she tipped forward, sprawling to the floor. A tiny sound accompanied her collapse: the snap of a thin wire breaking under strain. Jack sat up, rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, and felt behind her.

She found it coiled around her boot; it had been stretched across the hallway where no wire should be found accidentally. More of Don's lessons on readiness. Jack yanked at the offensive little trap, and neatly sliced her hand on it.

"Mother fucker!" Jack shouted at the darkness.

Don tsk-tsk'd from entirely too close by. Jack jumped, scrambling back against the wall, clutching at her bleeding hand with the other and clenching her teeth in sheer aggravation.

"Get up, kid…" A strong hand clutched her bicep and hauled her off the floor. "You get a time out while we doctor that up. Can't have you leaving a mess on the floor someone might slip in." He started dragging her down the passageway. Jack stumbled along blindly in his wake, hoping he wouldn't run her into a doorframe for good measure.

"Zemma could have tripped on that, you know," Jack tried to sound merely accusing rather than sniveling.

"Zemma has lenses, she would have seen it; it reflects pretty brightly, actually."

Don sounded so sure of himself that Jack wanted to knock the imagined smug look off his face. Somehow she managed to keep her mouth shut about his parentage.

"You could just turn on the lights now," she tried instead.

"Nope."

Jack ground her teeth. She hated this feeling of being drug helplessly through the dark without any control. Don suddenly stopped, without letting her crash into him.

"Where are we, now?" He asked her seriously.

"How the hell should I know?" Jack was rewarded with a smack in the back of her head. "Hey!"

"Think," was all Don told her, still holding her painfully by the upper arm. His thumb seemed to be pressing right on a bruise he had left there just the other day.

Jack snorted out her nose, her teeth locked together, and considered just not answering at all, when he squeezed her arm even more agonizingly.

"Ow! Ow! Okay. Jesus…" She thought back through the steps she had taken, and those Don had led. There was a slight breeze hitting her face. "We're at the junction of the third deck corridor and the airlock to the inner corridor that leads to the ramps," she huffed out.

Don eased up on her arm. "Good." His voice was surprisingly contented. He turned her sideways and stopped her forward movement. "Step over," he reminded her before she tripped over the airlock threshold. She did and he whisked her quickly to the ramps and up to the level of the bridge and med center.

It felt strange climbing upwards without seeing where she was going but Don held her firmly and didn't walk her off the edge like she half way expected. He seemed to read her mind:

"No. I'm taking you to get that fixed, not break your damn legs in a stupid fall," he growled.

"If I hadn't cut my hand I might have fallen off these trying to get up anyway." Jack accused him.

"I wouldn't have let you," he whispered, sounding offended. He stopped her suddenly and turned her towards him. "Damn it. You're dripping everywhere. Hold still a minute."

Balancing in the dark on sloping ramp she knew had no handrails to prevent her from tipping over into a dark death, or at least severe injury, Jack had no intention of moving. She thought she might be swaying a little, dizzy from the opposing angle of her feet and head, and feeling the slight change in gravity from the bottom level to this one very keenly. She heard the sound of cloth rustling, and Don took her bleeding hand in his, wrapping it firmly with something unknown.

"All right, c'mon…" he growled, and led her forward again into the blackness. Occasionally he would ask her where they were and she was prepared with the answers. He muttered, 'good,' and a word she didn't know, but sounded reluctantly pleased with her answers so she assumed it wasn't a cuss word. When they reached what she thought must be the med center, she expected him to call on the lights, but still, he merely led her into the darkness of the room and sat her on something firm.

"How can you guys see in the dark," she asked mildly, as she heard him rustling around on what she assumed was the counter and it's accompanying drawers.

"Eh? There's enough light in here. And body heat puts out a kind of radiation that reflects off objects. It's not exactly like infared cameras, where everything is red for hot and blue for cold. Our lenses pick out every stray molecule of radiation like bluish sparks." His voice seemed more focused on her, as if he turned to face her again. "Have you ever seen those blue-white embers off a welding torch?"

"Yah."

"In too much light, it's like that… painfully bright, and tinged with purples and pinks, as if the red blood vessels in our eyes are reflecting back the light from the lens onto our corneas. Hurts like hell." He was talking so matter of fact-ly, so… conversationally, that Jack wondered who had replaced Don with this… human being.

"Gimme your hand," he said softly, right in front of her face. She heard the sound of wheels against the hard, plas flooring, and pictured him sitting on the rolling stool. He took off the cloth wrapping and gently stretched out her fingertips. Jack suppressed a groan of pain. He bent her fingers a few more times, then asked her to do it herself. She did, slowly.

"Good. None of the tendons were cut. We can seal it shut and give you shot of antibiotics and some nanos to heal it on the inside. When did you last have a tetanus shot?"

"Don't nanos take care of that?"

"Depends on the nanos. Some come packaged with it, some with antibiotics. But either way, they don't fight germs and viruses very well, they usually rebuild tissue and bone."

"I didn't know that." Jack tried not to sound snippy, since he didn't sound condescending. He was just talking as he worked on her hand. At one point he rolled away and back again, and her fingers brushed his naked torso. She jerked away, realizing he had wrapped her bleeding hand in his shirt. She had no way of noticing in the cargo hold that he had left his armor behind.

"Don't pull away," he told her as he found her hand again, and held it firmly in his. She felt the needle bite into the fleshy part of her palm below the thumb. It numbed the pain immediately, and was followed by a spray of cool mist, as he pressed the sides of her wound together to close them. "Hold still a minute," he told her, blowing on her hand till the antibiotic sealant dried.

Jack felt very strange. She wasn't attracted to Don the way she was to Riddick. He was an old man, if powerfully built. But sitting here in the dark with him, as he spoke calmly and treated her wound gently, Jack felt that same surge of trust she'd found with Riddick, and so recently with Zemma. It scared her. Her legs trembled and the need to run filled her.

Don rolled back from her, dropping his hold on her hand, just as Jack pushed herself across hard surface away from him… and almost fell off the other side.

"What's wrong…" He used that word she didn't recognize again.

"Nothing, nothing…" She tried to think of some rational excuse for her subconscious reaction to his bizarre behavior. "Why are you being so nice to me?" She blurted out.

Hypatia's voice echoed in her head, and she expected him to say 'Because the game wouldn't be any fun if you didn't have a sporting chance.' All she could hear was his deep breath and her heart pounding crazily in her ears. She waited for it.

From the doorway his voice sought her out. "I give respect to those who earn it." It sounded gruff and professional again. "You've got thirty-one more hours in the dark. No time off for _that_, I put enough analgesics in that shot, you wont feel it for two days." He chucked, and she could hear him walking away. "Just don't hold a drink in that hand…"

Jack experimentally ran her other hand over the palm of the injured one. She felt nothing now; it was as if the hand were missing. It was strange. She knew she wouldn't know if she was gripping anything in it or not. She made a fist, and it took feeling the clenched hand with her good one to know she had actually done it.

From further down the corridor, Don's voice echoed back cheerfully, "Don't forget: be ready for anything…."


	35. Afraid of the Dark

Zemma waited for Riddick on the dark of the bridge. She hadn't told Don that Riddick was running late for his shift, so she knew something else was up; something cooked up by the two boys, for Jack.

She _did_ try to turn on the lights, and it _was_ password protected, but not very well. There was a message typed in the code though:

'Zemma, leave it alone. R.'

So it wasn't Don who locked the lights off.

Of the few cameras that Riddick hadn't disabled during his initial scrapping of the ship, none of them had infrared. Zemma had no way to look around the ship, now. She could listen, but in the dark, it would be even more obvious that she was doing so when the comms ready light turned green. So, she turned on the starscape view on the main screens and just waited.

A little while later Riddick strode in without a word, and sat down next to her. He put his feet up on the console, his hands in his lap, and just looked on the stars. When Zemma propped her feet on his thighs, he didn't say a word, but started stroking her calf absentmindedly.

She decided not to ask any of the hundred questions in her head, but just enjoy the quiet moment.

After a few minutes he tugged on her pant leg. "C'mere," he said softly, looking at her finally. Zemma stood up and stepped closer to him, wondering if he wanted to point something out on the screen…

He took her hand pulling her close to him, one hand reaching for and lifting her knee, so that she found herself straddling his lap. He pulled her down so that she was sitting on him. His hands ran slowly up her arms, giving her shivers.

"I was just thinking…" he started slowly. "That travel was so much easier when I was alone. I could just blue juice it; wake up when I got there. No worries. No hassles."

He looked up into her face; she could see his eyes shining in the dark.

"I think I like this better," he told her, his hands roaming over more than her arms now.

Zemma snorted, half amused, and flattered. A smile crept over her face, and she could see the planes of his face change in a responding grin. She put both her hands to his face and stroked lightly with her fingertips, tracing the little-used muscles of his smile. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Richard…"

"Mmm?"

"I…" but Zemma wasn't destined to say the words first, as much as they bubbled and tickled to get out: Don strode in.

Zemma sat up suddenly, embarrassed to be caught in such a position, but Riddick didn't let her leap away. He caught her arms, and pulled her close enough to kiss slowly, before letting her scramble off him to stand at loose attention for Don's benefit. She waited for one of the two men to speak.

Don went first. "She's in the med lab. Cut her hand." He was, as usual, brusque and brief. Zemma thought she detected something else now, something she hadn't recognized before; or perhaps hadn't been there before: a tone of voice, or just the timbre of it, that spoke concern.

"I don't want her skipping her duties," Riddick's tone, on the other hand, was hard. No cheating on the test, it seemed to say.

"Leaving the lights off wont give her lenses," Don seemed to be admonishing Riddick, as so many conversations about Jack seemed to boil down to. "Unless you know something else we don't?"

Don was the intelligence officer for Jaron for many years. From his arch tone, Zemma figured he didn't like not knowing things either. Riddick was a great keeper of secrets.

"No." Riddick continued to stare at the stars on the screen. "I want you two to stick close to her. I don't want her falling down those ramps and breaking a leg..." Don's derisive snort drew his attention. Riddick turned slightly in the chair and looked over his shoulder. Don didn't bother to elaborate on the snort.

Riddick went on as he turned back to the star field. "She has to learn to ask for help. Give her anything she needs… _but_, she has to ask."

Zemma resisted a smart-ass remark. It wasn't surprising that Don did as well. She knew they shared the same thought though: Jack had to learn to ask…sooner than Riddick had.

"Zem…" Riddick reached absently for her hand, still gazing outward, and perhaps inwardly. "Make sure she does her run." His voice implied another command too, or perhaps Zemma was just anticipating it… 'You can run as long as you eat.'

She'd better find those damn energy bars Jack stashed.

Zemma watched Don abort a salute that Riddick couldn't see, and wouldn't have appreciated anyway. He turned away without another word, and strode into the obscurity of the corridors again.

"Any duties for me, Sir?" Zemma asked Riddick, her tone light and slightly facetious.

"Come back here…" His tone gave her the shivers she liked.

* * *

Jack should have been sleeping. Instead she was lost, and… anxious. She thought maybe Don was waiting for her around every corner, laying another trap, or ready to laugh when she fell down.

She thought she could almost hear him.

When she stopped to listen, there was nothing. When she called out a more nervous 'hello?' than she intended there was no answering voice.

Still, she didn't feel as alone as she should. It was uncanny. Every sound she made seemed to echo back at her far too loudly…except when it didn't echo back at all. That was eerie.

Her eyes had adjusted to the tiny amount of light the red comm. light threw into the med lab, and so she managed to find her way around the tables and counters to the relative safety of the corridor… only to realize there were no little lights there to guide her way. She tried to remember how many doors to the next corridor, and which room she'd decided to sleep in, but was confounded almost immediately when she turned the corner… Was it eight doors down the left, or nine?

None opened easily; she'd picked the lock earlier in the day, locked it behind her, bypassing the code entirely. She could pick a lock in the dark, but which room had she left her comm. chip in? Riddick couldn't give her a wake up call if she didn't get the right room. She threw her back to the wall and kicked it with her heel in frustration. She wouldn't be able to find the case of power bars either: she'd never counted how many doors down that room was, and it was on the level below. She wasn't at all sure about taking the ramps in the dark. The bounce tube was out of the question.

She started spewing long and anatomically impossible things about Don, hoping she might at least get a chuckle out of him, if he were nearby. Silence answered.

Creepy.

When she turned to go back towards the med lab and galley she stumbled into a bucket.

"What the fuck?"

It bounced and clanked a moment, echoing, until its silence made it invisible again.

Was that there when she came this way? Was she pointing the wrong way now? Or was Don really there, hiding in the blackness, setting traps?

'Be ready for anything.' He'd said.

Jack crouched in the darkness, waiting for something, anything, that would indicate her feeling that Don was _right there_ was correct. Nothing.

She stood up slowly, convinced her mind was just playing tricks.

'_Anything…'_

Was that a whisper in her head? Or did she really hear it this time?

"Fucker." Jack tried to sound bolder than she was feeling.

'_Oh, Hija. Oh, Baby-girl. What's wrong?' _

THAT voice she knew could only be in her head. Jack might think she saw Hypatia around every corner, but she couldn't really have gotten on this ship.

She couldn't.

The falsetto voice was closer than just around the corner: it was in her head… always. The dreams were too vivid, the memories too clear. Jack could escaped the physical presence, without ever really escaping the woman.

The first time she'd tried to run away, she'd gotten herself into worse trouble. Hypatia had saved her, and for a while, Audrey had been grateful. The young girl tried to find solace in the strange and fearsome woman who scared her so badly, but had also kept Audrey alive and relatively safe. The young girl Jack had been wanted to be safe, wanted a mother, even as bizarre a mother as Hypatia. It was years before she tried to escape again.

That's when she met Riddick. Then she lost him.

Hypatia had found her at New Mecca somehow, and delighted in Jack's harder edge. She told Jack about her heritage as a weapon and the price on her head. Hypatia fed into Jack's anger, stroked her forehead comfortingly and told Jack that she would keep Jack safe… forever.

She molded Jack into a killer. It wasn't that hard.

Jack sunk down against the wall, hands to her head, trying to banish the phantom. Sobs tried to escape; her whole body shook with the effort to suppress them.

"Leave me alone, you bitch!" She cried out into the darkness. She hated the dark. She hated being alone. She hated to cry.

"Jack?"

Jack leaped back from the voice whispering so close to her face, and tried to scramble backwards. A hand caught her foot and held it fast.

"Shh. I'm not gonna hit you."

"Fuck you, Don."

"Not that either." His voice was calm.

Jack kicked at him with her free leg but he only caught that one too.

"Calm down." That sounded more like him, giving orders. She heard him take a deep breath. "If you go charging down the hall in the dark you're gonna hurt yourself again."

"You set that stupid fucking trap for me!" She shouted, letting anger carry her away from the scarier place: away from tears.

She heard him sigh again. "You're right. I'm sorry." He let go of one foot and she heard him sit down with a heavy thud.

"Let go of me," she hissed.

"Not till you're calm." He sounded resigned.

"I …am." She said through clenched teeth.

He only snorted in response. They sat at impasse, neither speaking. She couldn't see or hear him now, only feel his hand clamped around her ankle. Time seemed to stop.

"Why are you doing this?" Jack finally asked, and her voice did sound a little calmer to her ears.

"Doing what?"

"Stalking me in the dark."

"Just making sure you don't hurt yourself."

"Turn on the fucking lights, dipshit, easy as pie." She suddenly kicked at him again and this time made solid contact. She heard his breath explode out of him in a hiss and his hand loosened momentarily. Jack pulled away and tried to scramble out of his reach, only to crash headfirst into the opposite wall.

"Fuck!" She spun around so her back was to the wall and stood up.

"Jack…" His voice was too close again. Jack took a swing at it, not hearing herself scream in rage as she did so.

He caught her hand and twisted her around so that her back was to him, and wrapped his arms across hers. She tried to head butt him but she was too short, only smacking into his chest. She tried to rake her boots down his shins and stomp his foot but he merely picked her up in the air. She planted her feet on the wall in front of her and pushed hard so that he stumbled back to the other wall, but then found she had no purchase whatsoever.

"Calm down, kid." He actually sounded tired.

Jack redoubled her efforts to kick him, screaming profanities and hoping Riddick would hear her. Riddick would save her. Riddick would make Don turn the lights back on. He would understand why she didn't like the dark.

Whatever hits she scored on him with her feet Don ignored. Wherever Riddick was, he couldn't hear her shrieks. Don's strong arms around her made it hard to breathe deeply and when she stopped yelling long enough to try to take another breath she could hear him whispering in her ear in a language she didn't know.

Panting in frustration, feeling the tears getting too close again, Jack gave up her struggles.

Don put her feet on the floor but didn't release his hold on her. Jack didn't move.

"You all done, kid?" He asked quietly, sounding a little out of breath himself.

"Let go of me."

"You can't fight mad, kid. And I'm not gonna let you go charging blindly down…"

Jack twisted her hips up and back against him, a sly smile on her face unseen by him. "What do you _really_ want, Don…?"

"Knock it off, child." He sounded offended and angry. He didn't let her go as she expected.

"C'mon, Don, I'm not a child…all you had to do was ask…" She tipped her head back and tried to turn her face to him.

"Is that all you think men want with you?" He almost sounded…sad.

Jack growled and tried again to fight her way free of his embrace. "Asshole! Bastard! Turn on the damn lights! Fucker! I hate you! When Riddick finds out…" She was losing her cool again, she didn't have any control of the situation; it was breaking her.

"Riddick wants the lights off," Don spoke above her thrashing head.

"Noooo! He wouldn't! He knows I don't like the dark. You're lying!" Riddick wouldn't do this to her, would he?

"Shh…" Don spoke that word he'd used earlier. "Settle down, child, everything is going to be all right…"

Jack hated those words. It was all a lie, always a lie. "Liar! All you want to do is hurt me! Liar! You bitch! I hate you!"

She still couldn't get free but was far from knowing how many times she'd actually scored on the old man.

"Shh. Shh. I won't hurt you. I won't let her hurt you anymore. Shh." His voice stayed soothing and quiet so that she only heard him when she tried to catch her breath. That got harder and harder to do, as the outraged cries became real crying. She went limp in his arms, unable to stop now that it had started.

Don slowly drew them down the wall until they were sitting on the floor, still holding her tightly against his chest and rocking side to side. "Let it out, Jack. Let it out."

Jack cried until there was nothing left inside, and Don just held her, rocking her, without speaking. In a little while her breathing changed; she fell asleep from exhaustion.

Don looked up to the only witness to the past half hour. Zemma had never said a word, never tried to interfere. She pushed away from the wall where she'd been leaning, arms crossed, and hunched down beside Don. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think that's what Riddick intended?" She whispered softly, so that it didn't disturb Jack.

"No," Don spoke just as quietly. "But, it's what she needed."

"I'll tell Riddick she won't be doing her shift." Zemma looked sympathetically at young girl. "Do you want me to take her?"

"I'll be all right with her."

Zemma put her palm to Don's cheek. "You're a good man."

Don shook his head a little in negation. "I was, once, but the Mongers made me hard inside."

"You _are_ still good." Zemma stood, kissing Don on the top of his head. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."


	36. Somewhere in Between

**36. Somewhere in Between**

Jack woke up sore, and thought that her hand had fallen asleep, until she remembered that Don had given her a shot of…

Don! Oh Shit.

They were still sitting on the floor; Don still had his arms wrapped around her. Jack felt drained: somehow clean and empty.

"Jack?" Don whispered a little hoarsely. "You all right now…?" He used that word again, the one that was almost familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it before.

"What does that mean?" Jack croaked, her throat sore too.

"What?"

"Min? I think I heard it before but I can't remember…"

"Oh. It means 'girl child': like a daughter or favorite niece." He spoke quietly from above her head, still holding her against his chest. She was glad, at least, that he couldn't see her first blush in a very long time.

"Let's get you up and into bed. You need to sleep." He didn't release her yet. "No running off, right? No more beating up an old man…?"

Jack snorted at 'old man' but nodded. He released her slowly, as if he were stiff and sore too.

"How long was I asleep?" She asked. The darkness still made everything feel as if time had stood still.

"Not long enough…" He groaned and she heard him push himself up against the wall.

Jack stood in the darkness, feeling him near, and wasn't quite so afraid. It was odd, not to be afraid in Don's presence.

"Do you remember where you were planning on bunking tonight?"

"No…" Did that mean he knew she bedded down in a different room every night?

"Doesn't matter, this one will do." He put his hand on her elbow and led her a few feet to the nearest door. The keypad never brightened but she could hear him punching numbers in. The door swooshed open, expelling stale air. He led her inside. Jack started to tremble a bit.

"Don't worry, Zemma told Riddick you won't be in for your shift. You're just gonna rest. Tomorrow we'll pick up where we left off." He led her to the bunk and pushed her down by the shoulders until she was sitting.

Jack reached out hesitantly, brushing his thigh with her hand and pulling away again, strangely embarrassed. "Don't…"

She felt him drop down to her level. He put his hands on her knees.

"What is it, Jack?"

"Don't leave me?" She hated how she sounded, but couldn't help herself. She didn't want to be filled up with the darkness and dreams again.

"I wasn't going to." He sounded almost offended, and Jack smiled a little at that. "That's better," he told her. Jack startled a little, forgetting that he could see her face.

"Will you… hold me?" Jack's heart beat hard and fast. She wasn't trying to seduce him now; she wasn't playing a role that gave her power. She was asking for something she needed… and afraid the answer would be 'no'.

She heard him breath deeply, as if considering. Her whole body tightened, expecting to be turned down.

"None of your tricks, Jack," he admonished quietly. "I don't want that from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes…" she didn't know what to call him. 'Sir' seemed wrong. "Yes, Don," she finished lamely; it wasn't enough to show her feelings.

Don patted her knee and shoulder, indicating she should scoot over. Jack rolled on one hip so she was lying down on the far side of the bunk. Don climbed onto the bed, then pulled her back against his chest. One arm became her pillow, the other he wrapped around her waist, never touching anywhere he shouldn't.

Jack found it strange to think that he 'shouldn't.'

"Don…?" Jack was tired but not sleepy.

"Hmn?"

"What… what's the word for…" her throat tightened up and she choked on the words.

He seemed to know what she meant.

"Ferrin," he said quietly, and a little far away. "Ferrin means father."

"Ferrin," she whispered, trying it out.

"Deinen means 'god-father'…roughly."

"Day-nen," she tried that one too.

"Not so much accent on the front, blend it a little…" he spoke softly, without judgment. "Deinen," he repeated for her.

"Deinen," she repeated back to him.

"That's better," he whispered, and hugged her a little closer.

Yes, she thought so too.

* * *

"You decided?"

"Yes."

"I told you what I wanted."

"Then keep the lights off an extra day. Tonight, she's off duty." Zemma's tone stayed level. "Riddick, do you trust me at all?"

She knew him well enough that she didn't take his non-response as a negative.

"This is what's best for her, this time." Zemma smoothed the harsh tone of her words away with her fingertips on Riddick's face. "She's been working so hard to please you. She deserves a night off."

"You're too easy on her." Riddick grumbled but there was assent in his voice.

"And you are too hard… Somewhere in between she can grow up."

* * *

"Do you have any kids?" Jack asked quietly, knowing Don wasn't asleep.

"No. There should have been time, but it never seemed right. They'd just be dead now anyway."

Jack hadn't really appreciated what happened on Fury before. This hit home: if she had been Don's daughter, she would be dead now. Their whole world died before she was even born. And Riddick slammed the ones who did it into a planet.

"Is Hypatia really behind us?" Jack had read the same things Zemma had in her time on shift. She had come to the same conclusions. She had been afraid to ask this one question.

"I don't know. Riddick is trusting your instinct on this one."

Jack didn't know how to take that. Riddick trusted her…instinct?

"I'm afraid."

"I know."

He didn't tell her not to be afraid. He didn't tell her he would protect her. She wouldn't have believed him.

He just accepted. Zemma accepted her too.

"What's going to happen when the lights come back on?" Jack whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You feel like someone different right now. I…I feel like someone different. What happens when the lights come on and I see the old Don, and you see the old Jack?" She was nervous about this new thing, worried that it wouldn't last, and anxious that it might.

"Ta Min, I haven't stopped seeing you."

Oh, yeah.

"What's 'ta' mean?"

"Mine or my."

Mine. 'My daughter, or favorite niece.' My Girl.

Jack shivered and pulled away a little. Don let her. She rolled over and put her hand against his chest as if to ward him off.

"This is too strange. I…I don't understand why you're being like this. I…I…" She didn't know what else to say, either. It was all too new, too unexpected. There had to be some hidden agenda. He had to be setting her up for something awful.

"What's wrong, now?" There was an element of the Don she knew in that tone: a little impatience.

"Wha…at do you… want?" Jack's voice dropped low, guttural, and animalistic.

Don sighed. He was losing her again. He rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bunk, elbows on his thighs and hands dangling. He rolled his neck until there was a loud pop. Jack never moved.

"I want to get some sleep, kid. I want to know what while I do, you won't run off and hurt yourself." He sighed and rubbed his face, feeling impossibly old. His voice dropped to a whisper and he couldn't believe he was about to say this to this slip of a girl who never made any sense for more than two seconds. "I want to connect with someone for longer than a spin in the sheets…

"I'm an old man, kid. I'm never gonna find 'the one' who will give me children…I should have grandchildren your age by now. And unless I do something really stupid to get myself killed, like following your hero out there, I'm gonna get a lot older… and a lot lonelier."

He paused.

"I don't relish the idea of getting a lot colder along the way."

"Why me?" Jack's voice was tiny and hesitant, a little girl's voice.

"You're tough. You're smart. I like that… but you need someone. And in case you haven't noticed, your hero has someone. He doesn't want to let you go, but he doesn't know what to do with you either."

Jack snorted a little.

"So how 'bout we forget this whole 'deinen' thing; sum it up as the wistfulness of a cranky old man. You go to sleep here. I'll go sit over there by the door so you can't ditch me. I'll go back to kicking your ass in the morning." He got up, feeling his age, feeling slow.

"Ta… Deinen?" The words croaked out. Jack swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, kid. It won't kill me. Riddick probably will, but…"

"No. I mean, I'm sorry… I never saw you before."

Don shrugged, remembered she didn't have lenses, and said, "You saw what you were supposed to see."

"I… Will you stay here with me?" She sounded unsure.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea, Jack."

"Please, Deinen. Please. I'm tired of being alone too." There was a little hitch of breath at the end as if she couldn't believe she'd said it out loud. "Zemma tries…I don't know why."

"She says you make her laugh." Don sat hesitantly on the edge of the bunk again.

This time Jack's snort had a little more mirth to it. She reached out uncertainly for him. Her fingertips brushed his arm. She tried to clear her tightening throat; her words were at least a little stronger. "Will you hold me, again, Deinen?"

Don had to think about it a moment. "You gonna freak out on me in ten minutes?"

"I'll save it for when I kick your ass in the morning," Jack's bravado seemed almost back to normal.

Don laid down, fingers laced behind his head, on the very edge of the bed. Jack scrambled over and laid her head on his shoulder again.

"You can try, Ta Min," Don chuckled. "You can try."


	37. Irritation and Affection

**37. Irritation and Affection**

* * *

Jack rolled over on the bunk, her hand landing on a soft, warm body, startling her awake. She was halfway off the bed when a firm hand caught her and pulled her back.

"Where ya think yer goin'?" The sleepy and gruff voice floated out of the darkness like a ghost. It wasn't female; it didn't frighten her: Don's voice.

She wasn't in prison, or locked in by Hypatia. Jack couldn't remember any dreams, which was fairly unusual, as she was habitually plagued by nightmares.

"Bathroom," she croaked out, suddenly feeling too close to the old man and wanting some space.

He let her up without letting her go, and turned her a bit with one hand still on her arm.

"Three paces, straight that way," he whispered kindly. "And don't try to sneak out." That sounded more like him.

Half a smile curved on lips un-used to a genuine smile. Jack frequently grinned, just to keep em all guessing. She turned her head towards Don as if she could see him, and wondered again if this…thing… would be impossible to continue in the light. Friends with Satan?

Jack stayed in the bathroom a few extra minutes just to think things through. It didn't track, but in the dark, somehow, it seemed okay. She didn't notice she was biting her nails to the quick again, until she tasted blood, the hand was still numb. She brushed it impatiently against her thigh and stepped toward the door.

Maybe she could sneak past Don? Did he fall back asleep? Where would she go if she did? She was still lost in the dark.

The very idea of walking around in the blackness with only the ghosts in her head for company made the strangeness of sleeping fully clothed next to the old man she hated seem a little less… funky.

Jack opened the door as quietly as she could, not really intending to leave the cabin, but just by habit. She held her breath and listened a minute. She couldn't hear Don snoring. In fact, she couldn't hear him at all. She shuddered briefly, thinking he'd left her alone in the dark. A tiny sound told her otherwise…

Jack figured Don must be standing by the door, waiting for her to make her break. She smiled into the blackness, knowing he could see her.

"Expecting me to run?"

"Yup." His voice was right where the door should be.

"I wanted to."

"Yeah."

"But, I didn't..."

"You heard me shift my weight…"

"I wasn't, anyway," she added quickly.

"I don't think you know that for sure."

She didn't. They stood there a few silent moments, as far apart as the room would allow, contemplating their own thoughts.

Don spoke again first, "Breakfast then?"

"Yah."

* * *

Zemma must have kept Riddick in bed, because the usual place to just hang around was the galley, and it was empty. There was, however, some light there. It was very dim, but enough to move around safely. Don dropped his lenses.

"Zemma must have argued him down."

"At least for this room."

The pair looked at each other. Jack thought she'd feel awkward; Don seemed only contemplative.

"We okay?" He asked her.

Jack cocked her head to the side, as if this angle would provide answers. Don scowled, and she laughed abruptly, before covering it with her hand. She saw his half a smile as he turned away, towards the cooking area.

"What can you cook?" He asked, his back still to her, as he opened the cooler and considered what was inside.

"Grilled cheese."

He looked over his shoulder at her questioningly.

"A sandwich." She moved a little closer to him and the prep area.

"What's on it?"

"Uh… cheese."

Don pulled bread and a block of cheese from the cooler. "Fry an egg too, and we'll call it breakfast."

"Me?"

Don sighed. "Can you fry an egg?" He sounded almost resigned to the negative.

"Only if you want the yellow part broken."

"For a sandwich you do…" He pulled out a small carton of actual eggs- not boxed, scrambled-egg colored liquid- and placed them next to the cheese.

"Well…okay then."

* * *

Zemma answered the knock on the door pad and was surprised to find a covered tray outside the door of the cabin she shared with Riddick. On it, two sandwiches, gooey with too much cheese and slightly burnt along the edges of the egg and the bread. It looked terrible.

It smelled delicious.

* * *

There was no one in the galley. The bridge was empty as well. Zemma flipped through the cameras available, not expecting to see anything, and not disappointed. She began turning on the comms one at a time and listening. At the cargo bay they used for sparring, she found Don and Jack doing just that.

"Morning Zem!" Jack called out, out of breath, when she spied the green light. "Fucker!" Sounded out immediately afterwards: Don getting in a cheap shot.

"Morning!" Zemma called back, smile playing across her face to hear everything normal. "Thank you for breakfast."

But by the sounds of it, both were too busy to respond.

* * *

The first night after the lights came on, Jack hadn't quite known what to do with herself. She should've curl up someplace safe and get some sleep before her shift… but after 30 hours in constant contact with Don… Jack felt lonely without him.

She stood outside his door.

He hadn't slept since she'd woken up in his arms, stayed with her every minute through her next shift. Never offered, but always responded by helping her when she managed to ask. When Don's shift started, and the lights had come back on, she'd just stayed on the bridge with him.

"Go to bed, kid."

"I'm okay."

He's shrugged and went on as if she weren't there, ordering Riddick around through the comms to check this and do that in preparation for landing with their contract cargo. The ship was already in contact with the planet, other cargoes were considered, bids made. Don seemed to want to argue with everything Riddick said. Jack had smirked at that. Curled up in the navigator's chair, she listened to them argue, and sometimes dozed.

Then it was Zemma's shift, and Jack just followed Don around as he made his final checks, and laid groundwork for the cannon that no one actually spoke of out loud in her presence. He talked as he went, sometimes to her about what he was doing, sometimes to the equipment when it was being stubborn. Jack felt stupid following him around like starved kitten… but she hadn't wanted to be alone.

When Zemma called all clear, and Don headed for his cabin, Jack just walked along with him. He paused outside his door and looked her in the face, kinda curiously.

"You gonna come in?" His voice was gruff but his face wasn't.

"No, uh…" Jack wasn't sure what she wanted.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Go get some sleep, Jack." His words were softer. He didn't once call her Ta Min since they'd left the cabin. Jack only nodded as he turned and left her in the hallway.

She just stood there, feeling lonely.

She wanted her Deinen. She didn't understand it. Wanting a mother figure in her life had sucked her into the clutches of… She'd never wanted a father figure, not since Riddick had saved her… and left her.

She rapped on the door pad.

"Yah?"

Jack's head tipped against the wall just above the speaker she whispered into. "Deinen?" Her eyes were pressed closed with tension. He would just tell her to go to bed, again.

"Come in." The door swooshed open at his words.

"I…" Jack didn't know what to say. She stood in the dim corridor, staring into the darkened room.

"Come in, Ta Min, get some sleep."

Relief rushed over her. In the dark, away from prying eyes and ears, Jack curled up in the arms of a man who didn't ask for anything but her best; didn't demand anything except to improve herself. One arm around her waist, the other a pillow for her head, Jack felt safe for the first time in years in Don's chaste embrace, and slept.

* * *

Riddick swears he isn't reading this. Guess it doesn't matter if he is.

We're hours from the next planet stop. Not a moon base, but a dirt ball, in Riddick's words. He says there's no reason for me to leave the ship, if I don't want to.

The ship behind us isn't getting any closer, and there's no point creating a cannon that would just arouse suspicion…yet. Riddick hopes it will land so he can have a suitable hand-to-hand conversation with its occupant.

Jack seems better. She and Don are still going at it, but there seems to be a new element to it now. The day after the lights came on, Don started leaving traps for her…

Don came walking down a hallway that led to the open center of the ship. He seemed cheerful and he was humming; strange in itself. He dropped a broom in the middle of the walkway. He walked down ten feet or so and strung a wire across the hall at ankle level and poured water on both sides of it. He smiled at me and waved as he dropped a fighting knife, similar to the one I wear, about ten feet inside the open area. Then he walked up the closest ramp and vanished.

A minute later Jack came down the same hall. She looked suspicious when she noticed the broom. She approached slowly in a cat like stance, turning frequently to look behind her. When she got to the broom she snapped it off the end and carried the handle as a weapon. Very annoying, it was our only broom.

I worried that she wouldn't see the wet floor, and almost called out a warning, when she suddenly ran forward and leapt the water, and wire, in a single bound. She hit the ground rolling and popped to her feet, then struck each wall and the ceiling in a barrage of attacks with the broom handle until she was sure Don wasn't going to materialize.

She saw me, grinned, and walked forward slowly, taking time to look on both sides of the doorway as she entered the open area. She mouthed to me silently, "Where's Don?" Before I could answer, she noticed the knife, looked around again and approached it warily. She took it with a smug look and discarded the broom handle.

She had just started to say something, when Don launched himself from the ramp in a horrifying death from above attack. Poor Jack froze for a moment unable to believe her eyes. Tucked up into a ball, he struck her at an angle that knocked her back down the hallway. When she hit the water she slid into the wire that tangled around her. She came up cussing, still clutching the knife, and started toward Don with murder in her eyes. Don actually laughed as he retreated back up the ramps.

"'Scuse me, Zemma. It's gonna get nasty, now." Jack said between clenched teeth, eyes sparkling, looking feral and almost…happy.

My hand is cramping. Time to go see what Riddick is doing, and find out who survived the last round.

* * *

Jack's last few days onboard the frigate were happy. That alone should have told her the end was near. God, The Celestial Sadist, wasn't done playing with her life, and Hypatia wasn't ready to loosen her clutches.

They were due to make landing between Zemma and Riddick's shifts, which tickled Zemma, who wanted another chance to fly in the atmosphere she couldn't actually go walk around in. She and Riddick were thoroughly preoccupied with that one thing as they got closer to the planet, so they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary in their midst.

Meanwhile, Don never once gave any hint to their shipmates that Jack's role onboard had changed: at least in the dark and quiet of his cabin. They traded insults as well as blows, and seemed content in their mutual irritation of each other. Then, each night, Jack would slip into Don's room with a whispered word of affection, and he would hold her sleeping form until ship's morning, when she would slip out to have a sonic shower and change her clothes in another cabin. Knowing Zemma's preoccupation with snooping, he never called her Ta Min except in the privacy of his room. The two slept fully clothed, and contented with each other.

Until landfall.

Jack should have known better. Anyone who knew her at all would have gladly told her she would screw it up. She should have known better, but she simply didn't. In the dark, everything was all right. In his arms, she was safe and loved. She only wanted to thank him, to show him how much she loved him back…

She really didn't know any better. She certainly couldn't have foreseen the consequences. She was just so filled up with emotions she'd never felt before… without running away from them.

She didn't know Zemma would get the plague. She wouldn't have done what she did, if she had known that. The feelings she had seemed to extend right out of her to everyone on the frigate. She loved Zemma.

She didn't know Riddick would go mad with despair. She wouldn't have thought that possible, but even so, if she had known, she never would have done it. She loved Riddick, she always had.

She didn't know Don would find someone else to love. She never would have done it. She would have waited, maybe. Maybe if she had waited… She only wanted to show him how much she loved him.

She just didn't know any better.


	38. Didn't Know Any Better

38. Didn't Know Any Better

* * *

She really didn't know any better. She didn't understand love like she should. It was at once mystifying and terrifying. It usually made her run like hell. She ran from Kyra, right back to Hypatia; and not just because she wanted out of prison. She hated herself for that.

She ran from Imam, his suffocating love, and even more stifling faith. She didn't trust any of it. It never felt real. It never felt like…this.

Riddick… it felt right with him, when she was too young to know she was too young. Except, he ran first. When he found her again, when he had already found someone else, it hurt so bad that all she wanted was to share the misery.

Damn Zemma. Jack had tried to hate her. Nosy, funny, ignorant of everything that wasn't delivered by room service; Zemma should have hated Jack right back. She wasn't anything like the mother figures Jack had sought out before: Carolyn and Shazza had both wanted to protect Jack; something she both craved and feared.

But Zemma forgave her…Zemma kicked her in the head… Zemma just wanted her around. Could you love a friend? Jack didn't know. She didn't know _how_ to love Zemma, she just did. It was all too confusing.

And now… Don. Not acting like Satan at all, at least, when no one was looking. Jack was grateful for that. She wouldn't have known how to deal with Don's open kindness. She liked to fight with him; she liked being held by him. She loved him and it hurt so wonderfully, so differently. It made her love Riddick and Zemma all the more. It made her want to love Don even more, to show him how much she felt.

She didn't know any better.

She couldn't sleep, thinking about it all. Don was snoring ever so lightly. She loved the sound of it. The sound felt safe. His arms felt safe. She'd never felt like this; at least, not since Riddick had held her hand in the little escape craft, when she asked what would happen if mercs found them in the shipping lane. He had held her hand and told her that other Riddick had died on the planet, and she thought he would be hers forever.

But, she'd been too young then. She couldn't sleep for that one thought…

'I'm old enough; I'm old enough now. I'm eighteen, two years past legal age on most planets…'

It was true enough. She didn't know Don's exact age, but he had to have been exaggerating that she could be his granddaughter. He only looked… forty…ish…

She didn't know any better. She didn't know _how_ to love any better.

So when Don's dreams turned to whispers in a language she didn't know, when he seemed to be calling a woman's name, Jack only wanted to be that woman for him.

She moved very slowly, sliding her arms into and under her tee shirt, carefully pulling it over her head. Bare-chested, she snuggled in closer to him, letting her fingers stroke his arm lightly… searching for where she could reach his bare chest above his tee. She loved him so much; it confused her, made her head swell and her chest feel like it would burst.

In his sleep, still dream-speaking words she didn't know, he pulled her closer. Jack's heart thumped so hard, she didn't think she could breathe.

"I love you," she whispered, causing gooseflesh to break out all over. Forbidden words.

Her fingers sought the bottom hem of his shirt, hunting for bare skin. She tipped her hips into his, pressing her body closer. She didn't hear the tiny mewing sound that escaped her; the pounding of blood pressure in her ears drowned everything else out. His body responded to the pressure of hers, in sync with the impulses of the erotic dream.

Jack kissed Don's chin, liking the scruffy feeling of the day's beard grown in since he shaved that morning. She thought maybe this morning she would stay and watch him shave. If he would let her, she wouldn't leave his cabin in the morning, but use his sonic shower while he shaved.

It was a silly, little-girl fantasy, of course, and she couldn't recognize that. Don had already set the limits of their relationship. She didn't realize how serious he was about that line. She didn't understand daughterly love.

She loved the feel of his warm skin, the silkiness of the thin layer of hair on his muscled chest. She pressed her hips against his again, and groaned with urgency. She wanted to feel his hands on her, his lips on her face, she wanted to feel him inside of her and she wanted to make him happy. She only wanted to make him feel as good as she did in his arms.

Her hands roved down from his chest towards his pants. She could feel his body's reaction to her. She thought it meant something; she thought it meant everything would be all right.

She was so painfully wrong.

He startled awake, not easily, but hard and fast. His body jolted from the dream at the invasive touch of her hands. Shock caused him to push her away, his hands landing on hot, naked flesh of her chest. There was no sweet understanding. There was no reciprocal tenderness that she expected.

"Jack! What the hell!"

He couldn't get away from her fast enough. Jack's mind registered the movements, the words, too slowly, caught as she was in her little girl fantasy.

"Don… I love you…" Her voice squeaked out as she landed on the floor from his shove. She couldn't see, but heard him scrambling away from her, cussing in a language she didn't know.

"Don…" She choked on whatever words she intended to say as she burst into unnatural tears: Tears of a child, not a grown woman.

"Damn you! Damn you to hell! What do you think you're doing?" He raged. She heard him hit a wall with a fist, punctuating his words. "What do you think I am?"

Jack was crying so hard now, the words were barely coherent, "I…love…you, Deinen."

"Stop that! Stop it! Don't you say that after what you were doing! You don't understand what that means."

"Please…" she started, but the sobs cut her off again.

"Get your damn clothes on, girl! And get out of this room!" Somehow, his voice seemed to get even louder, his shouts echoing painfully in the small, undecorated space.

"No, please!"

"You had no right!"

"I only wanted to…" she tried again to talk, but couldn't catch her breath.

"To what?" Finally, his voice dropped a little, but the scorn in it now was unbearable to Jack's ear. "To put me in the category of all the men in the world who aren't Riddick?"

"No…" She wailed, confused.

"Or is this what you would do to him if you had the chance? Turn your hero into just another one the monsters who used you?"

"Stop it!" She found enough breath to scream back at him. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" But she dissolved back to hysterical sobbing.

"Get out." His voice dropped again so that he was no longer shouting over her. His voice was cold and low and final. Get out. The words rang through her head like a fire; pierced her like a sword. He didn't understand, he wouldn't listen, all she wanted was…

She felt broken into a thousand pieces, but her body remembered what to do even as her mind locked up on the words that still echoed in her head like shards of glass.

Get out.

She flung herself up and towards the door, slamming into the wall first, sobbing hysterically, and deafly, unable to hear anything but those two final words. Somehow she found the door panel; somehow she slapped it open and stumbled from the black of the room into the over-bright hall. Somehow, her feet found the means to do what she had always done: she ran.

She didn't see Zemma and Riddick as they passed by Don's cabin, looks of shock and confusion on their faces to see the half naked and hysterical Jack run from the room. Jack didn't see the look of cold anger on one, turn to murder, as she didn't see Don step to the doorway at that moment.

Riddick didn't register the look on Don's face, all he saw was the man responsible for Jack's panic-stricken flight.

Zemma did, and in that brief second before she took off at a dead run after Jack, she thought she knew what had transpired. If she had seen the look on Riddick's face, she might have stayed. It didn't occur to her that Riddick didn't see the situation as clearly as she did.

Riddick, usually so astute at taking in information and making reasonable deductions, was blind in just few areas: One was Zemma, the other was Jack. Don knew it; knew by the look on Riddick's face what was coming next. Don knew nothing he could say would stop the avalanche descending.

Riddick's whole body seemed to expand as he took the few short steps towards Don. His muscles bunched and his jaw tightened as one arm cocked back to deliver a sledgehammer of a punch to Don's face.

Don didn't try to avoid it. He wouldn't cower like a guilty man. His eyes grew cold as Riddick's, as he held his head high and accepted the inevitable. The blow knocked him back into the dark cabin and Don twitched up his lenses to follow Riddick's progress toward him.

"You get one for free," Don sneered. He leapt from the floor, tackling Riddick across the midsection, pushing them both back into the corridor and slamming them both painfully into the bulkhead with a thunderous crash.

The sound alerted Zemma before she reached Jack, who was much better adapted to running. Zemma slid to a stop before crossing the pressure door into the inner corridors of the ship. "Fuck!" She hissed, but didn't debate with herself. She turned back the way she'd come. Jack would be okay, but the two behind her might kill one another. She ran hard towards the sound of fighting.

Don was a few inches taller than Riddick, but while broad, didn't mass nearly as much. He wasn't faster than the younger man, and was still taking more blows than he threw. He was, however, as wily and surly a fighter. Zemma summed it up in the few seconds it took her to race back to them. Riddick was fighting to kill, and Don only to defend himself. Neither spoke.

Zemma could only see one option.

She shortened her stride just enough, and threw herself bodily at Riddick in much the same manner Don had, but aiming higher, hoping to topple him, hoping to distract him enough to stop the fight.

It was a good plan. It just didn't work.

Riddick caught her mid-air, with a sweep of his arms, and propelled her past him, and further down the hall to crash into the wall. The whole movement barely broke his stride, and he turned immediately back towards Don.

Don took the whole second that Zemma had afforded him to step back and drop his hands, he backed towards Zemma's prone figure on the floor behind him with just a quick glance her way.

"I know you didn't mean to do that," he said, huffing a bit, his age clearly showing.

Riddick's glance at Zemma's crumpled body behind Don at first seemed cold and uncaring, and Don worried for a moment that the self proclaimed murderer was too far gone in his rage to care. But the next moment, he blinked.

Inwardly, Don sighed in relief. It was a gutsy move, and Zemma might be hurt, but she'd gotten through Riddick's thick skull in a way words wouldn't have. Now if he could just keep from setting Riddick off again…

"It isn't what you think…" Don started, backing another step towards Zemma when she moaned. He glanced back again, hoping to see her hop up unhurt and spitting mad.

It was a mistake to think Riddick was ready to hear anything Don said. Don found himself choking as Riddick's hand tightening on his throat. Riddick's face was cold and angry still as he looked from Don to Zemma, a dozen feet further back and still not getting up.

"Bastard," Riddick hissed. "Taking advantage of a little girl? You gonna tell me it was all her idea?"

Don debated amping this fight up again. Riddick would take him, eventually. He was faster than any man Don had ever seen: an admirable fighter, if not much of a leader. He had no doubt Riddick could and would kill him if he got it in his head to do so. Don felt every one of his seventy years of hard living.

Zemma moaned again, and Don decided to let Riddick make up his own mind if Now was the time for Don to die. He wasn't afraid of death, even an ignoble one. He had sort of thought of Riddick as a friend. He had hoped Riddick would give up being a hero, and become a leader, but neither of those things drove Don to keep his mouth shut now. He was only worried about one thing…

Jack.

He'd been angry and hard on her; he didn't want that to be her last memory of him.

Riddick's hand didn't tighten, and Don made no move to remove it.

"Riddick, Zemma's hurt." Don spoke slowly, calmly, with what little breath he had.

Riddick's eyes darted to her again. "And what about Jack? What did you do to her?"

Don kept his face still. He could still hear murder in the man's voice. "I threw her out, Riddick. That's all. I didn't touch her."

Behind him, Don heard a palm slap the deck hard, and a string of Furyan swear words he would not have bet Zemma knew. He heard her groan as he guessed she heaved herself up, watching Riddick's eyes follow her movement.

"Son of a bitch," Zemma switched to the common speech. "Riddick, if you re-broke my arm…"

Don thought her voice was very carefully pitched, angry but low key. He watched Riddick's eyes as he heard Zemma step up close to Don's shoulder, felt her lay a hand there.

"Are you done, now?" She asked Riddick archly.

Riddick's jaw tightened as he stared hard at Don, avoiding Zemma's face. Zemma stepped into Don's view, her right arm pressed against her ribcage, but her left hand reaching for Riddick's face, drawing his look to hers. She didn't say anything, just held his gaze, searching.

After a moment she asked him, "Do you want me to go find Jack, or land this bitch?" She turned to Don and added, conversationally, "We were coming to tell you we're in orbit, with a landing sequence."

Riddick's arm dropped away as he turned Don loose. He turned one last cold look to Don as he said, "You're off this boat." Then to Zemma, "Go find Jack." He strode away without another word or glance at either of them.

"Zemma…" Don started.

Zemma turned away, perhaps still harboring some doubts about what she'd seen. Her words belied that, but perhaps they were just hopeful.

"I don't think she knows any better, Don," she said as she walked away from him.


	39. Hypatia

39. Hypatia

* * *

The planet was a dirtball. Probably one of the richest dirtballs in the galaxy, but you wouldn't know it to look at it. It was a mining planet, dotted with shantytowns and its captive population looked as brown and dirty as the buildings. Slavery was outlawed in most systems, but indentured servitude was still common. It amounted to the same thing here.

Compounding the issue was two minimum-security prisons, minimum because there was nowhere to run to and frankly, quality of life was better in the slam than out. No one bothered to escape.

Imports were welcome, but there was nothing to export except rocks. Ore was processed and offloaded by the mining companies themselves. The only cargo not allowed to leave the planet was human… well, not officially.

The spaceport was just a strip of ground cleared of the largest boulders and surrounded by an 'invisible' fence. Buried in the ground was a cable that set off an alarm if any prisoner, or indentured member of the population for that matter, crossed the line. The chip responsible was injected under the skin, and moved randomly around the body via nanos. It was said it contained explosives that could be remotely triggered.

Stories abounded graphically detailing the demise of those who crossed the line. No one bothered to find out if they were true any more. Apathy had long set in. Even the guards had become bored, not even bothering to examine 'D.B. Cooper's' cargo of illegal still works. Riddick had only to offload it himself, with the equipment provided.

They were encouraged to stay and spend their profits. It wasn't an appealing offer.

They ended up staying anyway.

Jack was gone.

Zemma spent the evenings standing at the gangway doorframe, staring out at the bleak landscape under a sky of stars so clear they might still have been in space. The grand vista shook Zem to her bones, but it didn't stop her from trying to get over her fear. Every night she tried to step a little further out the door. Every little inch forward just reminded her of how useless she was in finding her friend and bringing her home.

Don continued to work on the cannons. Riddick had not tried to enforce his decree, but he wouldn't speak to Don. On the other hand, he wasn't speaking much to Zemma either. He spent most of his day and half the nights moving like a ghost from town to town.

Near dawn on the fourth day Don woke the couple with a call on the comms. Another ship was landing. It was a yacht.

The three stood silently on the piloting deck and watched for any sign of the occupant of the slowly cooling little sloop. Both men had whistled at the model, noting it was something in a price range beyond most governments.

"Maybe it belongs to one of the mining companies?" Zemma inquired hopefully.

No one spoke of the possibility that the ship might actually contain Jack's mysterious benefactress, Hypatia.

The guard came, and went, and no cargo was offloaded. No one emerged from the ship. At dawn, Riddick left the vigil to make his rounds. Zemma made tea and returned to the bridge to find Don still there, but not watching passively. He was actively trying to get into the other ship's computers through the planet's satellite system. She handed him tea.

"Anything?"

"The satellite had no firewalls to speak of. The sysop must be as lax as the rest of them here. But I can't even get a ping back from that little ferry." He seemed only mildly annoyed. The challenge was, at least, not boring.

"She must be as good as Jack thought then, huh? To afford _that_, and to foil _you_." The last was said with a fond smirk. She laid a forgiving hand on his shoulder.

Don glanced up, features set in stone, searched her face penetratingly for a moment. Zemma chanced a small smile. He didn't return it but he patted her hand softly, dismissively.

"It's not your fault, Don."

"I knew she was fragile. I knew what she was capable of. I shouldn't have…gotten so angry with her."

"She makes us all want to kick her in the head, Don. I don't think it's better to coddle her. She needs to know where the boundaries are." They'd had this conversation every morning now. "Riddick will find her. We'll get her back."

"_I'll_ never get her back, though." For such a heartbreaking sentiment, his voice still sounded tough as nails. The juxtaposition made Zemma smile, and determined to kick the girl twice.

'Min Deinen,' he'd called Jack. He'd asked Jack to be his goddaughter… and the foolish girl had tried to seduce him. It still made Zemma furious. The girl had no sense of family, and that was understandable, but certainly she had to have seen…

Three seconds were up. Zemma really couldn't stay mad much longer than that, and keep her sanity. Jack just didn't know any better… didn't understand family relationships, or love, or friendship.

"She…"

"…didn't know any better. I know. I know." Don finished churlishly.

Zemma didn't take offense to his rude tone of voice; she knew he was only angry with himself.

"I got something…" Don didn't sound excited, but wary. His next words proved him out. "Bitch tried to bounce back a virus." He was tapping speedily at the keyboard. "Mmm. Clever girl… she used that to get a peek at US!"

He became entirely engrossed with the code flying over the screen. Zemma watched in fascination. She understood most of what she was seeing, but realized that it was more like a chess game than the stagnant system she'd learned to circumvent. Things were entirely different when someone on the other side of the screen was fighting back. Zemma watched Don initiate programs she hadn't seen before, and didn't think existed before their last stop. He'd been busier these last two weeks than she knew. Did the man ever sleep?

Zemma realized Jack was good for him too. She gave him some down time.

Don suddenly jumped up from his chair to move to another console. The code on the screen he'd abandon continued running on its own. He'd set up some kind of loop or randomizer. He chuckled softly to himself as he started anew on the other keyboard.

Zemma left him to his challenge, just watching quietly, trying to absorb everything he did. They could no longer assume the yacht was anything but Hypatia's ship and that she was here for Jack.

Zemma sighed. At least Don had something constructive to do.

* * *

Riddick prowled the dusty streets and dark establishments that gave pitiful little distraction from a miserable life. He felt completely at home. His anger was in check and he was doing the one job he was flawlessly suited for: hunting. Jack was leaving piteously few clues, but he didn't mind that. He was almost proud of her for being a challenge.

He thought perhaps he should feel differently. He should be angry at Jack; they should be on their way to…wherever.

He mentally shrugged. Didn't need a PHD to connect those dots. Jack gave him purpose. Hypatia gave him a target. Find one, take out the other, just like old times. There was a kind of catharsis in the old ways.

He didn't think about 'then what'. He just knew that Jack would finally be safe and he could quit worrying so much about what he hadn't done for her all those years ago. She could start clean.

He could start clean.

* * *

Jack kept moving, not bothering to stop and establish herself. There was nothing to pinch from these people. She just needed enough space between her and Riddick that he would get bored and leave without her. He and Zemma could start their happily ever after sooner if she wasn't around to complicate things. For once, it didn't bother her.

What would become of Don bothered her. She knew she left him in a tight spot. She knew what Riddick would think. She didn't mean to do that to him, but she couldn't face them long enough to apologize and still have the strength to get way the fuck gone. Zemma would forgive her. Don wouldn't. She couldn't stay knowing she'd ruined things.

She might have tried to stay and fix it.

She would have… maybe… if Hypatia hadn't found her again. Jack put them all in danger as long as Hypatia was in the picture.

She might have stayed, and let Riddick handle Hypatia. He said he could, and Jack believed him. She still believed him when he said he would take care of her.

But there was that other thing, still. And she believed that too. 'No sweet spot.' Riddick could take care of Jack in more than one way, one not so nice way. One very permanent way…except…

Not over Don. He would only yell at her for that. Maybe kick her ass a little. Probably let Don kick her ass a lot. She could have handled that.

It wasn't that.

It was almost her birthday. She'd be nineteen soon. Something was going to happen then. Jack didn't know what. Maybe it wouldn't be anything.

Maybe.

Or maybe it would be something really… Jack tried not to think about it.

Hypatia wanted her back really bad. Hypatia said she'd make Jack the greatest killer in history. Jack just didn't think it had anything to do with her skills.

Why hadn't anyone whacked her ass yet? Why did Zemma have to go and make her feel wanted? Why was Riddick trying so hard to educate her for a better life… when she didn't have one to live beyond her next birthday? Why did she let them?

Kyra had made her promise. They were supposed to die together in a blaze of glory: something to mark the history books. Live hard; die pretty. And IF they made it to Jack's 19th birthday, and IF Jack showed any signs of getting sick, then Kyra would do her, then herself, and they'd take heaven by storm.

Hell would be too afraid they'd try to take over.

Except… she never got Kyra out. Now Kyra was dead.

Riddick should have been a safe bet. She was supposed to be able to count on him. He was as unchanging as the ground and twice as hard. He was a professional killer. No sweet spot. Just boom. All done.

He wasn't supposed to break all the rules. He wasn't supposed to have a girlfriend, and Jack shouldn't have liked her. He wasn't supposed to make Jack feel like she had something to live for. He wasn't supposed to give her second chances.

If she got sick… would he try to save her?

Jack shuddered.

He'd shut her up in a cryo-tube and try to fix it. Living hell: stuck for god knows how long with Hypatia in her head and nightmares she couldn't wake up from.

And what if… what if Jack didn't get sick? What if she was just a carrier? What if Zemma got sick first? Or Don? Or Riddick?

What if people just started dying around her…and she never got sick and died too?

Jack looked around at the pathetic zombies who would never leave this planet. She might be doing them a favor if she just stuck around. But maybe, she wouldn't get sick too.

She'd better find out if there was a death penalty here. Sometimes these backwaters would forgo legalities in favor of justice. Maybe she'd be dead before Hypatia found her again.

Jack wished she wasn't such a chickenshit. It would be easier to just kill herself.

* * *

Hypatia played tag with the whoever on the frigate was actually interesting enough to keep her attention. She was in a hurry in the greater scheme of things, but sometimes you just had to stop and play a little. She laughed, and it would have frozen Jack in her tracks to hear it.

The little cruiser was of NecroMonger origin, though someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to hide that fact. She knew it was not merely a survivor of the destruction of 75 of the fleet. She'd been near enough to hear that last battle. Near enough to know who had orchestrated it. Her beloved Jack's favorite hero:

Riddick, Richard B.

His public files were amusing enough. He was slightly larger than life. Huge bounties. Impossible escapes. The slaughterer of ten thousand men? That had galled. That was _her_ kill.

The Family must have known it would irritate her to no end that they would credit him with that. It was a backhanded way to put him on her personal list, no doubt. So she'd let it slide. If they wanted her services, they would have to pay just like everyone else.

Of course, she intended to make Them pay no matter what.

There were lots of little ways to make them regret crossing her, and she still had several in the works. But she wanted Jack back. Jack was still the best little ace she'd ever had up her sleeve. Jack amused her.

Sometimes she even fancied that she loved Jack…

It was impossible, but the idea tickled her.

It was still a few months till the birthday girls would come into play. Everything was in place. Jack wouldn't be able to leave this place without her help. And the chance to dance with the infamous Richard B. Riddick, well, it was all just too delicious to rush. She could spend a little time indulging herself here.

Once Jack was back in her possession time would just fly by anyway. The waiting was almost over. Soon she'd know which girl was the bomb… and which one was worth a fortune.


	40. The First Meeting

040 The First Meeting

* * *

They say a fight is won in the moments before the fight; as you see your enemy, and the arena you will fight in; as you look into the eye of your opponent; as you see their conviction, and measure the desire in their heart.

They say, all things being equal, fear will decide the outcome. Not who has the least...but who can master it. But when neither has fear... desire... conviction... then it is back to just you, your enemy, and the arena.

She entered the warehouse taking long strides. Not a natural walk, but one a woman learns: Exaggerated swaying of the hips, each foot crossing the other and her arms swinging loose at her sides. A sexy walk meant to attract the attention of men…to lure them out of their senses and sometimes out of their life.

I appreciate the walk, but not for the artistic reasons. Her long strides are measured. One foot solid on the ground before the next one comes up. Swaying hips giving her balance to move any direction. The swinging arms move deliberately close to her body, and gains her even more balance. She uses the space to her advantage. Her path keeps her in the center of the room, but under the I-beams that support the roof. With those long legs she could make the beams... making a two dimensional fight go three-dimensional. Too bad, its one of my favorite tricks.

She is tall... long of limb and leg. Her movements have grace and precision. She has tried to hide her face. Long black cloak, dark pants and shirt, like a military jump suit with head cover. She is pale; I can see her dark eyes almost like empty sockets. She could have hid those eyes too... but she wanted me to see them... and to see mine.

Her feet changed rhythm slightly as she approached. Most wouldn't notice it. Just a slight change to make sure she reached me at the precise distance she wanted. I still have reach on her in both arm and leg, just barely. She stops just outside that reach. Odd, I would have thought she'd come in close... to use the speed she obviously has… before I can use my strength. Of course, I'm pretty fast myself.

"Richard B. Riddick," she purred. "Born on earth, no data on parents. Fostered to a nasty old bitch that you later killed. Nice job on that, _beautiful _arterial red pattern in those photos." She giggled a sound so child like it was unsettling. "In and out of penal institutions, recruited by The Family." The shape of her lips more a sneer than a grin.

"The man who _single-handedly_ trashed the triple max joint, Butcher's Bay. Killer of the raptors of the night. Slayer of the alien merc queen." Her eyebrows popped up and she smiled. "Again, trashed a triple max prison... Crematoria? You orchestrated the escape of 5 other prisoners." She paused... looking at me. "Did you kill Toombs? Such a useless man, but he made me laugh." she continued on with out waiting for a response. "The man who took over the entire Monger horde… and made them disappear. Some… private war?"

She stood motionless the whole time, a slight sway, staying on her toes in case I make a move on her.

"You may have actually killed more people than me. So few can truly appreciate that like I can." She was serious now. "_She_ is in no danger from me; safer than with anyone... even _you_."

She tensed, staring me straight in the eyes.

Shaking my head "Lady, you do like the sound of your own voice, don't you."

Mistake... she just wanted me distracted.

Her leg shot out faster than the eye could see: A sidekick. It gave her the extra distance she needed with me just outside her range. I had time to realize she how good she was. The kick was angled, her shoulders dropped down to align the spine with the leg that was kicking. She wasn't at full extension but just beyond it: a power move. If she had missed, or miscalculated, she could have landed on her ass. She didn't, she caught me in the chest. I flew back three feet and struck the doorframe hard.

I let my momentum bounce me right back at her. She went for two fast punches to my face that I deflected with one sweeping block, and brought my other forearm hard towards her face. The plan was to sweep aside any blocks and plant the front of my elbow somewhere about her nose…but after throwing two punches she was still quick enough to get her block up.

My arm felt like it hit a tree trunk. My mass and momentum should have forced her arm back into her face, but she stood fast. The soles of her boots only slipped an inch or so from the combined force that should have knocked her on her ass, at least.

Fast as a snake, she locked my wrist with one hand. Her grip was like steel. She twisted my wrist down, and backwards. Her other hand smashed down on my elbow to break it. There was a loud crack; the pop vibrating through our entwined limbs. She threw me aside carelessly; she was sure she'd done permanent damage.

Funny thing about me... elbows, shoulders, knees... all double jointed... hurts like hell, but don't break easily.

She smiled as I arose slowly, cradling my grotesquely twisted arm. One quick movement snapped it back into place.

"Interesting" she mused. The smile was feral with anticipation.

We paced around, both trying simple combinations of punches, blocks and kicks, feeling each other out. She moved faster than thought. She was stronger than her thin frame should allow. She gave more than she got.

The circle widened to give us each a moment of space. Her hands moved to her collar. She unbuttoned it slowly, her eyes looking me up and down even more slowly. She tossed it aside casually. The feral grin never left her lips. She closed the distance a little, hips swaying again in unconscious exaggeration. The rocking stroll of a woman intent on seduction, not slaughter.

I angled backwards. One entrance, one exit. I always know where the exits are.

She paused, her hands smoothing across her hips, reaching slowly behind her. She removed a needler pistol with one hand, dangling it from the butt with two fingers and threw it across the room with the same lazy indifference she'd tossed the cloak.

"Not at all how I want to see your blood spilled. Shall we try blades? I hear you are quite good, Richard." Then she produced a long thin blade from behind with the left hand.

I took out my own: shorter and curved... more shiv than blade. "Hypatia," I said with a single nod.

"So you have heard of me as well? I do hope she did not make me out to be _too_ much of an angel."

"What's the Family paying you?" I was testing.

"Oh, my dear boy. I do not work for the Family. So rude and… unimaginative, those Earthlings. You were lucky to get out when you did."

She closed on me quickly. We were only testing, sizing up the other's ability. Her blade could not get past mine, but she was fast with fist and foot. Her blows struck several times.

I picked up my pace a bit, twice scoring hits that turned out to be only cloth as she twisted away from my blade. Was she Furyan? No human could be that fast.

I locked her blade. When she brought her other hand up to clear it, I caught her wrist. We stood deadlocked: wrist in hand, and blade on blade. We could not budge each other. Interesting.

Good thing I was expecting it because I could not see it happen. I felt her twist in my grip. She snapped her leg between us to the outside, and swept up and back to try to kick me in the face. It was a perfect crescent kick. I twisted to the left, lifting her clear off her feet, and pitched her to the side. As she went over, I gave her a parting gift to the face with my fist.

She rose, smiling. No blood, so not as solid a blow as I thought. We commenced the dance again.

She kept her left side to me, hiding her right hip, and keeping her right hand near her body. Probably had a second blade. Must be how she wanted to see my blood spill. An old trick, but old tricks stay around because they work so well. I know the old tricks too.

I gave ground and exposed my left shoulder to her. She was fighting left-handed, it's what she would be looking for, waiting for. If she went for it she would have to lunge with that hidden right hand. I could step past that blow, it would put my back to her, but I should be able to run my blade from hip to shoulder up her body, or arm if she tries to stop it. Both work for me, dead or one handed, either shortens the fight considerably.

She took the bait. Spinning toward me like she was planning a heal kick, instead she produced a nice little kartan and lunged. A perfect move to impale a man's eye or throat. The kartan's handle fits the hand like brass knuckles, the blade protruding straight from the fist, making any punch lethal.

I stepped past the blow. As I turned I noticed her feet try to adjust to the move… too late, I was already there. I brought my knife back and she started to check her lunge. Was she going to try to bring that fist knife back to me? I started my cut; she'd brought her left arm up to parry my blade… again too late I was already there. My blade bit flesh, I felt cartilage and bone as I brought it up. I heard her grunt in pain, and saw her dagger coming back at me as I finished the turn to step away out of reach… too late… it was already there.

It caught me just below the collarbone. Not deep, though, good thing I was turning away form her.

I completed my turn. We ended a few paces from each other, looking over the damage we had done. Her cut had been shallow but had nicked my carotid; great place to cut someone, bad place to _be_ cut. Would have sworn she could not get that blade back that fast. My blood spewed till I pinched it shut, then it just oozed between my fingers.

I'd flayed her open from wrist to shoulder, opening the whole arm up and making it useless. But there was no blood… only a milky colored fluid poured out of the wound. No exposed muscle, tendons, or bones… just synthetic metal fibers, tubing, and steel.

The flow of the milky white fluid slowed but it was obvious that the arm no longer worked.

"Fucking cyborg." I leaned back against a crate, not yet light headed from blood loss and still holding onto my knife. The situation was looking grim. Can't use the right arm cause of the wound… cant use the left or I would bleed out in a few minutes, might anyway without help.

She squatted and touched the pool of blood on the floor. She smiled as she swirled it with her finger. "Not a cyborg Richard, Artificial Person. AP if you prefer." She looked vexed as she examined her own wound, but her eyes were drawn back to the pool. "Such a beautiful red… almost makes this repair worth the trouble." She licked her fingers. "You might be better than sex, Richard."

I made no comment. The door behind her opened silently, and closed quickly. Not Jack; the girl I'd been following only resembled Jack enough to suck Hypatia in. Can't be Zemma, she's only managing to get partway down the gangway, and then only at night and with her cloak pulled over her face to limit the view.

Don then.

Hypatia smiled at me as her eyes darted to the side. "Has my little doll comes back to me?" She whispered. She clutched the Kartan in front of her. Whatever she called muscles tighten in preparation for the new arrival.

The lights went out.

As my lenses popped up, I couldn't help it… I laughed. The sound echoed through the place, covering the sounds of footsteps and gaining another glare from Hypatia. "Can your artificial eyes see in the dark?" Did you hear that Don? We're not playing with just anyone here.

"Quite well," Hypatia wasn't afraid to give away her secrets. She rose from the floor smoothly, ignoring the damaged arm as she turned slowly in place, trying to get a bead on the intruder.

"Come, Jack. You know this wont make any difference." Hypatia's voice was sweet, as if appealing to a child. "Time to go, my pet. If you behave, I will let your hero live. It would be pity to waste such a fine specimen."

Hypatia moved with speed towards some sound. She leapt into a high front spin kick. Not meant to make contact, the move made her hard to hit, might frighten the unaware or inexperienced. Hypatia must be used to severely underestimating Jack...maybe everyone.

A figure darted out of the darkness some away feet from where the AP expected there to be a hiding body. A slashing movement, a tight roll, and the assailant was gone again in the wake of Hypatia's curses.

Don, why didn't you bring a gun?

"Having trouble, there?" I hoped my words would cover the sound of feet running lightly.

"I've got time, Richard. Do you?" She spoke over her shoulder at me, again with the giddy voice. I ground my teeth at the noise of it.

"The hero is bleeding out," she went on, towards the stranger. "Let's not take too long at this game."

A figure stepped out from behind cover; a knife gripped lightly, arms hung loosely at both sides. Hypatia strode confidently towards the stranger, who might have been an inch taller than her.

"Welcome…" She stopped as if noticing something wasn't quite right.

The eyes. I could see them shining clearly. Perhaps Hypatia could too.

Don launched into a vicious combination of punches and kicks, not yet trying to bring the knife into play, still feeling out this opponent… still calm in the Now. She couldn't have been expecting two of us, two Furians.

Hypatia recovered from her surprise quickly, but had already been put on the defense. With only one hand she was hard pressed to block the onslaught of blows. Some landed hard, one on her nose. Don didn't let up. He moved forward with every step Hypatia gave up to him.

Hypatia was no longer having fun.

"Who the hell are you?"

Don didn't answer her but pressed harder, his face grim.

"After I snap your neck, I'm going to cut your throat, and watch your blood mingle with Richard's on the floor until he bleeds out."

Don glanced quickly my way, that could be a big mistake for most. He might lose his focus if he realized there was a time limit here: that my time was pumping out between my fingers. I'm counting on him being more professional than that.

"Then I'll just take my girl and be on my way."

But Hypatia was running out of time too. Her fluid loss was slowing her, slowing her infinitesimally.

If Don could just get her to back up a few more feet…

But anger, or design, was pushing Hypatia's responses back up to a dangerous level. Don kept glancing my way, checking my wound? I threw a look to a spot on the floor.

Push her back… just a little more…

A small line of blood appeared on Don's arm, but he nodded, so slightly I might have imagined it.

Hypatia seemed to be in control again. "Give me Jack, now, or you'll end up like him." She shifted her weight to her right foot.

Spin kick, Don… watch out for…

Hypatia moved before I could finish the thought.

So did Don. Jack must have learned that particular trick from Hypatia… but Don had learned it from Jack already.

Don didn't try the counter; instead, he lowered his body and drove his shoulder into Hypatia milliseconds before the kick would have taken his head off. Don hit solid mass, much more solid than the thin frame should have supported.

He drove forward with his legs against the greater weight of the steel and biological body; driving her to the spot on the floor I'd targeted with that glance.

Hypatia grunted and twisted, drove the knife into Don's left shoulder, but the two of them moved a few steps closer. Don kept his head down and his other shoulder buried into Hypatia's mid section, and didn't react at all to the pain he must have felt. He pushed the two of them into the puddle of my blood.

Almost there.

Hypatia slipped as she pulled the knife from Don's shoulder, her boots losing purchase in the viscous fluid. I saw her flex, but it didn't matter now. She was close enough for me to reach. I felt the splash of warmth down my chest as I swung with my good arm, but the sudden passing resistance as I landed my mark was worth it. Boot leather and flesh parted.

Don took the brunt of Hypatia's pain-response. The witch spun away from my blade when I hamstrung her, carrying her own blade shallowly across Don's stomach to push him back and clear a path for a controlled tumble away from us both.

She stood unsteady on one leg, the other useless now, more fluid pouring out of the AP's Achilles tendon… or whatever she called that piece of equipment… and hobbled backwards watching us both closely.

Don sheathed his knife, his back to the swearing woman behind him. It was an audacious move, dismissive and arrogant. I would have done it. He picked up my knife and offered me a hand up, watching my face carefully as I watched Hypatia's. I had to press off the artery again, feeling light headed. We turned to face the enemy.

Hypatia smiled. "Mmm. Two of a kind? Very interesting. Perhaps you'll tell me your name, my dear? Don, isn't it? I thought you were only a geek. Smart and strong? Delicious. "

She shouldn't have been able to put weight on that leg, but she did. Maybe she didn't feel pain.

"Don't let Richard bleed out now, wouldn't want him permanently disabled." She turned and started for the other door, limping slightly. "Tell my pet I will see her soon." That child-like giggle the last sound they heard from her.

"Did we win?" Don asked through the harsh breaths of an old man.

"I think so… But she sure as hell didn't lose."


	41. A Brief Encounter

41. A Brief Encounter

* * *

Zemma sat on the bottom step worried about her boys. Not so much about them being able to handle Hypatia together… just that they were together. Riddick had been less than affable, not angry anymore, but the camaraderie was strained between them now.

She was proud of herself for making it all the way down the three steps. She couldn't broach the doorway in daylight but at night it was getting easier. She kept her cloak tightly wound about her, it gave her some comfort with the hood blocking some of her peripheral view. She watched a figure limp slowly onto the airfield.

Zemma stood up, gripping the handrail tightly. The soft dirt of the landing strip still made her sway, her stomach flip and her vision dim.

The figure approaching was too tall, and too thin to be either of her boys. The figure walked with a pronounced limp. Zemma couldn't use her lenses, they made her woozy out here, and the bright lights that illuminated the 'space port' backlit the…

There were no other ships, so it could only be Hypatia! Zemma felt a cold shiver chase down then back up her back. She slowly stepped backwards, up a riser, her heart pounding. What had happened to Riddick and Don? Had she killed them…both?

The figure pivoted half way between the ships. Zemma could see her more clearly now. Tall and lithe, she appeared to be wounded. Her head turned slowly to the side to stare directly at Zemma. Zemma took another step up and back. One more, one more and she could get inside, get inside and slam the lock button.

Zemma didn't think about what would happen if Riddick and Don were dead, she couldn't think it. The Now demanded just one action: move! Yet she couldn't move fast enough, she was still outside and her limbs were frozen with tension, and now fear. If she lifted her feet too quickly she might lose contact with the stairs; she might fly off into… she clamped down on that thought.

Hypatia was moving towards her now. Zemma found herself holding her breath, trying to get her foot up to the last step without really leaving the security of the metal grate. Her hand gripped the rail so tightly that she could hardly slide it up. Jack's devil-woman closed the gap between them with alacrity despite the obvious limp. Or was it less obvious now? Zemma made the top riser, slid her heel back to the edge of the bulkhead, her hand reaching for the doorframe.

"What have we here?" Silky voice from lips too red and a face too pale, the creature stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up. Before Zemma could think of an answer the strange woman went on without pause. "You must be Min, yes, my sweet child? The feeble creature only a killer like our Riddick could trust enough to love?"

Zemma's mind kicked into high gear now that she felt safely framed by the steel of the ship. 'Min!' The woman thought Zemma was Min! Riddick hated Min, hated when Zemma leaned on the façade rather than tackling things head on as he did. But Zemma felt a strange little surge of gleeful anticipation. If this woman thought she was something else, something to be manipulated, she might not attack Zemma head on. Zemma might have the advantage!

"Y'y'yes" Min's little girl voice floated out into the night air quite naturally.

Hypatia purred, a trill little sound in the back of her throat while her mouth widened into a grin. "You are lovely, my dear, why not come down here and let me have a look at you?" Still, she did not attempt to ascend the steps.

"Who are youuuu?" Min's face fluctuated between worry and expectation.

The face below her grinned exceptionally wide, luminous white teeth clamped together looking less like a smile and more like a grimace. Perhaps the limp was more problematic than her walk let on. "I'm a good friend of Jack. You know Jack, don't you?"

Min nodded enthusiastically, as Zemma's hand snaked slowly towards the close and seal button.

"My name's Hypatia," the creature went on smoothly, and still she did not try to step up.

Min smiled, more at ease now that the formalities were being seen to. "That's a funny name," Min's eyes twinkled but she didn't dare laugh.

"It's _unique_, just like _me_," the woman corrected her a bit firmly. Pride. Whatever might be oozing from the mysterious leg wound, pride was flowing more freely. Zemma was all too familiar with this peccadillo, both she and Min smiled gamely.

"You're pretty." Min looked down shyly, actually looking for the injury that apparently prevented the woman from stepping upwards safely. Why else did she stand there, not even trying to close to within killing range? Unless her effective reach was much greater than Zemma realized. That made Zemma wary.

However, flattery was the universal lubricant. Hypatia's face softened into a more natural smile.

"Would you like to come to my ship, Min?" She practically cooed, but a quick glance, hardly any movement at all, over her shoulder told Zemma the nature of this beast was more restrained and dangerous than the vain politicos she'd grown up with. "I have sweets, do you like sweets?" Then another quick glance with just her peripheral vision.

She was expecting company, soon. Zemma's heart soared. Her boys had scored and this one had left the field wounded, and looking for a way to salvage the encounter. What would be better than stealing a piece off the board? Zemma realized how perilous this situation could get, but she wanted to close the encounter in a way that would preserve her character. It might come in handy later to have this woman underestimate her.

For instance… if Hypatia got to Jack before Riddick did…Min might be more easily enticed on board. It should be no surprise that both women had that same thought, but for different reasons.

"I have to go," Min suddenly looked towards the town as if sensing something. "Ri… I mean, Ben said I shouldn't talk to anyone…" She bit her lip as if very sad not to go have treats.

Hypatia smiled benevolently, but Zemma could see her every sense turned towards town with tiny movements of her stance and head. "I won't tell," she purred. "It'll be our secret," and she dropped a rather caricatured wink. _She_ wanted an ace in the hole. Zemma was delighted to let her think she had one.

"I'll see you soon, my dear," Hypatia turned heavily, as if stiff or in pain, perhaps to give Min the impression that she needed help or was simply harmless. "I'll save those sweets for you."

Subtle. And patient. Not afraid to slow play it. Zemma's smile towards Hypatia's back was a tad more predatory than Min would have been capable of, or that Riddick would have been comfortable with.

* * *

Jack walked along the dirt road, looking forlornly at the dirt houses. The sun had set and darkness quickly approached. She had no money and without an indentured chip she had no means of making any. Still, some of the residents were kind enough to offer a little, a painfully small amount, really. They were all in the same boat, the people said in so many words. They didn't question why she was even poorer than they.

Along the ridge ahead, her destination, maybe her destiny: the prison. She was thinking only about how to get in there, rather moribund thoughts, quite suited to the landscape. She passed by some dirty children without really seeing them. Children, who might otherwise have shocked Jack from her despondency were hurried inside by mothers who were quick to remind them, in hushed tones and in a little heard language, that around strangers they should be more careful.

Obediently, they twitched down their lenses.

These refugees had learned one thing over thirty years: they must hide to survive.


	42. Aftermath of Guilt

42. Aftermath of Guilt

* * *

Zemma sat patiently at the bridge and waited for her boys to return. She drummed her fingers, counting by fours to keep herself calm. She decided not to tell Riddick about her encounter. He would be angry, he considered Zemma weak. She snorted. No one was as fast as Riddick, not even Don or Jaron. It wasn't fair to hold her up to those standards, she was half their size. But while Hypatia might be tall, maybe as tall as Don (who had at least two inches on Riddick), she was fairly thin, certainly Zemma had more muscle mass… Zemma thought she could take Hypatia.

Well, Min thought it. Zemma thought she better be careful with those ideas. There was still that wicked smile on her face anyway.

* * *

Don pulled a field kit from his belt as he knelt next to Riddick.

"You're a fucking mess, Sir," he said gruffly.

"Lucky shot."

Don didn't bother to retort. He sprayed Riddick's suppurating wound with the antiseptic glue and pressed the wound together. He nodded sternly and pulled one more item from his kit. Riddick didn't brace for it, Don just slammed the ampoule of nanos into the good shoulder. The adrenaline kicked in immediately and Don dragged Riddick to his feet where he stood more or less steadily on his feet.

Riddick only nodded his appreciation and the two set back for the ship.

"You know I didn't touch her," Don started as soon as they exited the warehouse they'd chosen for their trap.

Riddick shook his head, and decided it was a bad idea. "What's 'Deinen' mean?"

"Didn't Zemma explain…?" Don sounded as if he hoped he wouldn't have to.

"I want to hear it from you." And he wanted something to keep his mind off how fucked up he felt for the long walk back through this shitty little town to the ship.

Don sighed. He really did not want to talk to this man about his paternal feelings for Jack, with his complete lack of understanding for Don's cultural references.

"Deinen means godfather, roughly." It was more than that; it was an obligation taken very seriously. Don was supremely embarrassed to have taken the duty of Jack from Riddick. "I shouldn't have done that without talking to you. It was presumptuous."

Riddick was a little confused to hear Don's discomfort. It was why he hadn't yet accepted Zemma's argument that Don could not have initiated sexual contact with Jack… she insisted that Jack must have… Zemma had said Don was like a 'step-father' but Riddick was hearing something more. "Explain it to me."

"Our society is founded on war… most don't really know why since we've never warred with ourselves and we're as far out on the edge of civilized space as Earth." That was saying something. Earth was so far out in the backwaters that its involvement with the universe was still in its recent memory. "There's an old tradition, between… brothers…soldiers… on the battle field… to take responsibility for one another's family if one died."

Riddick slowly looked sideways at Don, but Don was looking firmly ahead. "It was rude of me."

Riddick finally made the connection. Don wasn't apologizing for taking an interest in Jack, but for taking the job away from Riddick… whom Don perceived as Jack's father. "She isn't my kid."

"She might as well be."

So there was something more… something else. Brothers…? Presumptuous? Riddick blamed it on loss of blood when he finally realized why Don was still troubled. Don had assumed a position of Riddick's equal, a breach in protocol for a second. Riddick's attack on him must have seemed like an alpha putting a lesser pack member in its place. _This_ Riddick understood. It was why Don had taken the hit despite being innocent of what Riddick had assumed happened between Don and Jack. He'd felt guilty for something else, just as deeply ingrained.

"Tell me about this Furian tradition."

It wasn't quite true that no one knew why Furians lived in a strict warrior society when there didn't appear to be anyone to war with. There were scholars who knew quite a bit about Furians ancient past. Most simply kept up the old traditions of physical training with body and weapons. It wasn't a waste; no civilization was free of the lawless, antisocial and predatory. Fury was a large planet, so those who wished to live outside the rules had room to leave the bounds of those who assembled under a leader. Democracy was a recent invention on Fury. Landlords had previously held great power, and each other at bay.

But those who bothered to study further, to hone their minds as well as their bodies, those could find all kinds of ancient history that was well documented, if difficult to believe. Don knew of it, but wasn't sure of its veracity.

Old documents that were still fresh and readable as any modern ones indicated there had been some great technological awareness in the past. Those 'papers' spoke of something so unlikely… well, Don explained it in short to Riddick and let him decide what was truth, and what was myth.

"There had once been one ruling race in the universe. That race had been so far and above every other race discovered that it was only natural to make them subservient. However these ancient beings were not overly populous… so they created a policing force: perfect soldiers who would enforce rule over every planet. For a millennia, or more uncounted, they'd done just that.

"But at some point someone rebelled.

"That First Race was destroyed by their own creations. Those perfect soldiers who were left retired as far from the systems they had terrorized as possible. Their old traditions survived. Furians survived. It was what we were created to do.

"One of those customs was Deinen.

"If a man died, his brother was responsible for his family. It needn't be a relative, in fact, it's better if it isn't, so that inheritance isn't an issue. The Deinen must protect his brother's family as if it were his own, unless or until his widow chose a new mate. She was forbidden to choose the Deinen, who often had his own wife and family anyway."

"And if the man wasn't dead?" Riddick's tone was needling.

Don sighed heavily. "I crossed a line, Sir. It was sedition." He continued to look straight ahead as he walked.

Riddick snorted. He'd never before had a 'second in command'. He'd never really counted any man as friend, though the preacher had come close, and Don closer. He'd never intended to have a family, yet it seemed he did, with all the problems he'd never wanted.

Did he need a brother too? His head was rushing from blood loss and adrenaline.

At least he believed Don innocent of molesting Jack now that he understood why Don was putting off guilt like a bad stink.

* * *

Jack finally made the nearest prison. They segregated on this planet, so she was lucky the near one was also the women's prison. Now she just needed to get herself arrested. That was never a problem. There was always someone worth stabbing standing near the prison gates. That it happened to be a guard was just the nature of the men who chose that profession. It wasn't her fault bulls were also assholes.

Three of them: One fat, older, and wearing more brass than the other two. Pity. He was probably most deserving, but would also be less challenging. The younger men probably hadn't learned how to really be completely worthless human beings just yet. In ten years they'd deserve what she was about to give their boss.

She walked to within ten feet of the men, who twitched to attention without seeming to notice her. She swayed her hips a bit more just so they were sure she was a girl and not some stupid boy looking for a job.

"Oh, ladies?" She cooed. That usually got their attention. No man could stand to have his manhood questioned so blatantly.

"G'way kid." The fat old one waved a hand dismissively. Maybe he was used to being called a lady?

"Fuck you, pig." Another oldie but a goodie.

"Beat it."

"Hey, don't let me interrupt you if you're that busy whacking each other off…" she shrugged, but didn't turn to go.

"Look kid…" The fat one started toward her.

"I…" she took two steps, one of which propelled her foot into his face. "Hate…" She took hold of his stunned head with both hands and bounced it off her knee. "Being…" As he fell in slow motion to the ground she pulled her shiv. "Called…" He was face first in the dust, so she just stuck the thing into his spinal cord just below the skull. "Kid!" She looked up, barely flecked with dust and blood, at the other two guards.

"Wanna try calling me 'kid' too?" She knew there was a crazy grin on her face, by the look on their faces. "C'mon boys… you can take a little girl, right?"

They couldn't. Jack kinda wished Riddick was here to see her in action. They weren't anywhere near as fast as Riddick or Don or even Zemma, but still, she knew she knew she was something to behold, a slip of a girl taking on two burly rent a cops. She was fast. She was dangerous. She was oh so good.

Two minutes later it was over. She stood panting over three dead bodies, barely breaking a sweat. She felt more powerful than she ever did when she was trying to play it straight. Hypatia was right, she was born to kill. She was good at it. She…

A noise above her drew her look up above the cliff-side prison gate. A woman stood at a balcony there, some kind of rifle in her hands aimed right at Jack. Jack only smiled at her too. Maybe she was finally gonna luck out?

"Do it!" Jack screamed and laughed hysterically. 'Suicide by cop.' Pathetic. Still, better than whatever Hypatia had in store for her…

Jack barely saw the woman's finger slip slowly backwards before she felt the blast hit her full in the chest, slam her into the ground, and into oblivion.


	43. Spice of Life

43. Spice of Life

* * *

Jack woke up in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the rails, and hurting like she'd never been hit with a sonic pulse rifle before. Of course, it wasn't the first time, but it never got easier. Her whole body was one big bruise. She looked around, recognizing the place as a prison hospital by the lack of anything sympathetic or nurturing. Steel gates instead of doors, armed guards instead of nurses, soft whimpering instead of pain medications, were all major clues to her location even before Jack could remember why she might be here.

Don… Riddick… Hypatia…

…her impending birthday, and the doom of the universe. Oh yeah.

She'd killed three men, and all that woman did was hit her with a sound bullet. Jack sighed. Stupid planet had rules after all. You never could tell. It didn't occur to her that a captive work force might be more important than the lives of a few mercenaries. And that Hypatia would make sure that any warden knew Jack was more important, more valuable, than anything. She was about to find that out.

* * *

Riddick spent another night searching the dirty streets of another nearby town, his shoulder aching but healing well. By day it was too hot and the residents spent their time fulfilling their quota underground. Few people would talk to him about Jack, if they had seen her at all. It was a planet of close-mouthed and depressed people by the look of it. Underneath, there was something more, Riddick could sense it but not place his finger on it. Made uneasy by the passage of a stranger already, no chances were taken. Children who couldn't yet control themselves were kept away and so Riddick passed by unaware of the secret and not worried too much by the fact. It wasn't his problem. Only Jack was his problem and these people had nothing to say on that subject.

* * *

Zemma spent another night on the three metal stairs that linked her to the comforting solidity of the ship. Don watched her struggle surreptitiously, afraid to let her be outside alone while Hypatia's yacht sat a stone's throw away, but unwilling to stand in her way to overcoming her fear. He fingered the pistol grip protruding from his belt. Projectiles and lasers were never safe in space, when sonic and gravity guns would do the trick on a soft human body without accidentally puncturing the hull. He didn't think Hypatia's body was soft enough to be bothered by them, so he'd dug out the ancient weapon he carried with him as a relic and souvenir. It was in perfect working order, and at close range should still knock a fleshy body back a pace, or drill a lovely hole in any skull made of bone and not something stronger. He could only hope Hypatia was more meat than metal.

* * *

Hypatia spent her time repairing the damage done by the infamous Richard B. Riddick and contemplating what she knew of his new crewmates. He'd never traveled with anyone before, and she'd never seen anyone with eyes like his. It meant something more than coincidence. She didn't give a thought to the retarded girl. The police report on the last planet had summed that shipmate up, and Hypatia had dismissed her. She might be useful as bait, or if she was valued by the men then perhaps as a hostage. She doubted the girl would be any more fun to torture and kill than a kitten.

A chime sounded, drawing Hypatia from her depressing thoughts of a mild and useless kill; the wardens were responding. There was a chance Jack might try to pass herself off as a young man again, but it was the warden of the women's prison who had the least, and most interesting thing to say.

"I'm insulted by such a _meager_ attempt at bribery."

She didn't say "…attempt at bribery for a prisoner I don't even have."

Hypatia smiled, and any who might have seen it would have shuddered. Jack was as predictable as the stars. Hypatia would never set foot inside a prison: too many variables, too many walls. However, it never really kept Hypatia from her in the long run. Eventually Jack would tire of the monotony that was the real downside to slam, would accept any offer that would free her, and Hypatia would take her back. Predictable.

Even the wardeness' response was expected. They never accepted the first amount. Hypatia was always ready with a more tempting number. Money was no object, ever. You just don't offer too much off the bat or they get suspicious. 100,000 creds was too much for a mere criminal, but about the right amount for a wayward and rebellious daughter of one of the richest men in the universe. She'd played this game more than once with Jack. The delicious part was that it was nearly the truth, and so much more entertaining when word got back to Jack's 'father'.

_His_ call to Hypatia would be banal in its inevitability. She continued to string him along. He would never see Jack, never have use of her, no matter how often Hypatia taunted Jack with the threat of it. She would eventually step foot on his planet, one of them anyway, _if_ she was the carrier, of course. Hypatia didn't care which sister was the bomb, but it would be more fun if Jack weren't it. Either way, there would be hell to pay and death to deal. Governments everywhere would be bending over backwards and offering everything they own to have the antidote. An antidote that might in fact just kill them anyway.

Hypatia hadn't really decided what offers she might accept. There was no plan beyond death and chaos. That was the thrill, the power, of it.

Unpredictability fueled Hypatia. Death thrilled her. Chaos fulfilled her. In the wake of real human emotions, her human brain latched onto those things that had been programmed in their place. Her human architects hadn't realized it would make her impossible to control. The Family learned its lesson well; the scientists who created her were killed and their researched ruined. Any other government that sought creative or monetary aid in similar developments found themselves at the short end of a rather powerful stick wielded by the Family. APs were destroyed free of charge.

Hypatia didn't mind. She liked being unique. It had made her very, very rich and afforded her any amusement she liked.

The kitten-girl flashed into her mind. A kitten covered in blood. Not dead, not even wounded, just surrounded by blood and meat as if it were in fact the most dangerous of predators. Amused, Hypatia giggled, and the sound of it echoed metallically. Perhaps kitten-girl had a use after all.

She took a few days to watch the comings and goings of the little frigate. Usually Riddick left alone at dusk, searching for Jack, no doubt as a means to get back into the Family. Kitten-girl stood on the steps after dark, perhaps pining away for her brutal lover. A brief but detailed fantasy flashed into Hypatia's over active mind regarding the love life of a vicious assassin and his child-like bride. It derailed her for a few minutes. Oh, the terrible things she could teach that man that would make the kitten scream…

A change in the pattern caught her attention. Don, the one who was listed only as a passenger on the manifest but apparently was something a bit more interesting than that, set out a few minutes after Riddick. Hypatia waited to see if the kitten would come out to play. The hunger had begun to plague her soon after her repairs. She was anxious to find a victim, but the trick she could play was more interesting than mere satiation. Chaos was the spice of life.


	44. Bait

**044. Bait**

* * *

Riddick had been very annoyed to discover Zemma had been straying outside the ship. Don didn't immediately enlighten him about his role looking after her, and that annoyed him as well. 

"Do not leave this ship alone," Riddick used his cold, threatening voice. It had very little impact on Zemma, who could be equally as stubborn as he. Had he whispered it in her ear, in that voice so full of promises, she would have agreed… and even would have tried to stick with it.

He tried to stare her down; she only kept her face passive.

"Don't pull that shit with me," he growled.

"What shit?" She didn't know.

"That Min crap."

Zemma almost choked. She hadn't intended that, but she'd thought it… and it had manifested on her face.

"Riddick," she began.

"Stay… in… the… ship."

He would accept no other answer from her. She hated to lie outright to him. She only nodded. He nodded back, satisfied, and turned to go, but did a double take. 'You're gonna do whatever you want as soon as I'm out that door,' his look seemed to say. Zemma raised an eyebrow in return: 'What do you think?'

They looked each other up and down. He didn't press, and she didn't need to lie any further.

"She's more than you think," he said as he turned away again. "Don't try to take her on alone, Zem. Let her take the bait."

"I won't. I promise." She could truthfully say that much anyway, but she wouldn't stay inside. She was making too much progress. Granted, in the day it was still impossible for her to even approach the gangplank, but at night… at night… she could step foot on the soft soil without feeling the need to throw up, as long as the hood of her cloak was over her head.

She knew Don had been watching her. She knew Hypatia had already underestimated her, and therefore Zemma's worth. She felt pretty safe. If Hypatia followed the 'call for help' then she'd have some time. It wasn't like Dame Vaako was trying to poison her or that damn captain was trying to break every bone in her body. Zemma didn't know that Hypatia was very adept at evil; there was more than one way to cause harm.

* * *

Evil… propelled by hunger. Hypatia was not supposed to perform beyond the Family laboratories. They'd severely hampered her ability to produce some chemicals, some hormones, a few essential ingredients to keeping a fleshy brain and body functioning. They didn't expect her to be able to work around the limitations they'd built in. She should never have been able to escape and stay gone so long. 

But they'd made her cunning, adaptable and ruthless. So she simply took the things she needed from whoever was closest, or would cause the most interesting effect, or amused her the most. Habitually, she was a predator that hunted other predators at the top of the food chain: humans, criminals mostly, so long as they made the game worth playing. Kill or be killed was programmed in and she had no reason to fight that particular set of encoding. In fact, she rather enjoyed it.

The nanos did the rest: converting the raw product into the right elements and filling in the gaps in her system, if only temporarily. Once she found the right laboratory it had been a simple task. Her body produced nanos like humans produced white blood cells. It readily accepted the new components, effortlessly altered her code to incorporate the added instruction to the sequence and viola! She was no longer in eminent danger, and no longer tied to the Family. She still didn't produce those chemicals, but she could steal them from any human body and make use of them.

The body in question could not survive the process, even if she had been willing to let it.

Sometimes, when the job fell in sync with her needs, the bloody mess she left behind enhanced her reputation. Sometimes it meant she had to get way the fuck gone. It didn't trouble her either way.

It might have been inconvenient on this planet, at this time, when she needed to wait for Jack to get over her self-imposed hiatus. Hypatia didn't understand Jack's need to purge herself of guilt, but prison seemed to do the trick and she was always a little more eager to go back to work when she got out. It never occurred to Hypatia that both maneuvers were meant to get Jack as far from her clutches as possible. It probably would not have troubled her if she did.

Meanwhile, something had happened that caused both men to leave the frigate, and she had an amusing idea. She might be able to send Jack a more personal message than she could through the warden. It might or might not hurry the girl along. That didn't matter so much as the pleasure of the act.

* * *

Riddick doubled back to where Don was positioned, and waited. He didn't like gambling that Zemma would stay inside and that Hypatia would follow the two men. Riddick was getting nowhere with his search, which left only one avenue Jack could have taken… and he wasn't ready to storm even a minimal security prison, only to find Hypatia waiting for them both on the outside. They needed to draw her out, somehow. 

Sneaking onboard the yacht was out of the question. Without knowing more about her, a distraction might only give her the advantage, or she might ignore it completely. Don was already monitoring the ship electronically as best he could with equipment inferior to hers, and he was pretty sure she was circumventing him. That left only one thing, one common denominator that Riddick was willing to bet on, even if Don was less sure of it: curiosity.

If Zemma would only stay in, and if Hypatia would only take the false signal bait…

The men didn't speak. What used to be a comfortable silence was more strained now. Zemma was frustrated with them both, feeling in her gut that they wanted to patch things up and they were just too obstinate to make amends. She didn't know how to make that happen, and didn't really understand that they didn't either.

Zemma paced the bridge, staring at the monitors, hoping Hypatia would bite soon, and leave her some time on the stairs. She wanted to step away from the railing today. She had to. With Riddick's mood and Don's guilt, she had nothing else to look forward to.

* * *

Hypatia noted the signal, but didn't believe it. She would simply avoid the men and go about her own objectives. She felt charged up for a hunt, even though she doubted anyone on this planet but those two would be a challenge. The real fun would be afterwards. 

She slipped out of her ship and stole into the darkness. She moved slowly, like smoke, a drifting shadow cast by moonlight. She directed her gaze into the darkness, seeking the men. She knew they were there, even though she couldn't see them. It would be there that she would lay in wait, so it must be there. She skirted the area. Looking back into the gloom she saw only one! A smile crept across her face.

'Oh, Kitten, your man is clever…' Hypatia thought, feeling giddy that there might be a challenge yet tonight.

A noise from above drew her attention, but she didn't turn there, she spun on one heel. Riddick was charging silent as a cat directly at her. That meant the other man would close from…

Rather than taking his charge, Hypatia leapt straight up. Laughter crackled through the air like dry lightening. The chase was on. Could he catch her before she chose a victim? Could he stop her before she killed? She loved cat and mouse games, but she'd never been the mouse before. Could she stop laughing long enough to get ahead of him?

Riddick stayed right on her heels for awhile, looking for a grapple or an opening. The other man tried to flank them both. She drew them further away from the open plateau of the landing strip, into the crevices of the town streets. The men dropped away behind her, seeking their own paths, looking for another ambush. Hypatia smiled.

She settled into the hunt. Dead eyed humans floated along in their lifeless pursuits. She dismissed most as soon as she looked at them. They barely glanced up from the dirt when Riddick tried again to pounce on her. A shot rang out. She scurried from the scene, adrenaline making her high and excited. They'd upped the ante. She turned her attentions to the second man; the man with the relic. A gun was cheating. He needed to be penalized.

Serious now, she seeped into blackness, her movements so slow they would attract not even the attention of the most staid predators. Unlike her rivals, her eyes did not give away her position. She did not even need to breath for small periods of time. She became a monolith of doom, patient and deadly. Time passed, she was unaware of it. She needed only to wait until…

A shadow at the end of the alley, the soft scrape of a footfall on softer ground, rather than the heavy clodding along of one of the mundanes: one of her quarry was about to pass close by! She inhaled lightly, seeking confirmation. If it were Riddick she would let him pass.

The spicy scent of gunpowder sent her springing forward, legs pumping hard against the ground like pistons. Her every movement tightly concentrated into the charge, no wasted energy. She would seem to blur to most eyes. Don's only widened a moment before she struck. No living being could move that fast. Then his arm was broken, the gun skittering in the dirt from impact, and there was only darkness.

Amped into high gear, his body never had a chance to fall before Hypatia had him swept up into her arms, bearing him away. A curse followed her, but could not catch her.

* * *

Zemma could not wait any longer. Her boys had left their position, she could only assume they were following Hypatia. She was as anxious to get out the door now as she had been reluctant the first time she'd tried. She was useless as long as she was trapped on this ship, as she had been trapped her whole life. She keyed in the smaller personnel door, and listened to the stairs extend and hit dirt. She preferred the stairs with their handhold to the cargo door's bare ramp. The door cycled open and she looked out onto the night. 

It was later than she usually came out. The air was cooler, sounds from the town almost non-existent. She listened to the various chirpings of insects, wondering what they looked like. She'd seen very few nocturnal animals, glimpsing only beating wings descending and the squeal of something surprised. She sniffed the air. It was dry and dusty, lacking the sweet, green smell of the first planet they'd stopped at.

She laid one hand on the cold metal of the handrail and pulled the hood of her cloak up with the other. She moved from the security of the doorframe, that first step feeling confident. She kept her eyes on her feet, not looking around now, just concentrating. She would not fly off into space. Gravity would hold her as firmly to the ground as to a deck. The words repeated in her head automatically as she took to the second riser down. By the third, some minutes had passed and the words were barely more than a comfortable sound in her head, diluting the buzzing noise that set her nerves on edge.

It was only blood pressure against her eardrums, but it was maddening if she couldn't drown it out. Words flew her head, repeating like a code. It didn't matter anymore what they were so long as she focused on the next word and the next step, and not the over-bright image that kept trying to overcome her mind. She felt utterly alone, and that frightened her as well.

He'll come back. He'll come back. He'll come back…

She wouldn't get stuck out here. He would come back when Hypatia was dead. She only had to take another step. He would come back…

The softness of the dirt under her feet always nauseated her. She focused now on the darkness ahead of her; it softened the contours, brought the horizon in close. She wasn't alone and the world was not too big. The shadows were her friends as long as she did not twitch up her lenses and look too deeply into them. The flattened perspective of night was a comfort. Another step and the handrail was just barely in her reach. Her fingers lightly caressed the bare metal as she shifted her weight, lifted one foot and set it a little ahead of the other. She only had to lean forward now and she would lose contact with the metal behemoth.

Coherent words were harder now. She only blanked her mind. White light tried to press against her consciousness. She leaned on her right foot, her fingers trailing away behind her, then only floating in mid-air. She froze. Nothing was holding her down, nothing to hold onto… _nothing_ was trying to make its way across her vision. Her breathing was fast and hard, burning her throat. Her mouth was dry, leaving her nothing to swallow. She felt dizzy.

"No!"

She thought she had shouted, but couldn't be sure. Zemma bit her tongue, hard, and balled up her hands into fists, nails cutting into her soft palms. Pain was her friend. She realized her eyes were closed, and opened them slowly.

Friendly darkness cloaked her. She got her breathing under control. She looked to her left. The ship was still there, solid and real, glinting minimally in the starlight. She only had to lean a little to reach it. She turned forward again, towards the soft glow that marked the slightly distant town. She shuffled her left foot forward. Another step! Her heart still pounded so hard in her chest that she imagined it could burst, but she was still standing.

Right foot. Another step. She felt dizzy but hung on, waiting for it to pass. She wanted to scream, but was afraid the sound of her own voice would tip her over the edge of reality. She could no longer just lean back to touch the ship.

Left foot. She no longer seemed in control of her feet, each one moved forward of its own volition. She looked only straight ahead, not thinking about how far she would go before turning back, or even if she could turn. Her right foot was already carrying her forward again. She felt like a passenger in her own head, looking out through tiny view ports with no control of her destination.

Left foot, again, so soon! Then right foot. How many steps? Not a full pace at any time, but still, she was moving too far away now. She had to stop. She had to turn.

Movement caught her attention. She forced herself not to twitch up her lenses. It would only be Riddick and Don. Would he be angry she was so far from the ship? Or happy that she had made it on her own? Of their accord her feet stopped their slow shuffling. Every muscle in her body ached with tension. Her throat was raw from breathing so hard. She held her breath as the figure moved closer.

Someone was carrying a body towards her. Oh, Don! She thought, because she could not conceive that Hypatia would best Riddick twice. He would never allow it…

The walk was all wrong. No man walked like that. An exaggerated step, hips swinging confidently from side to side: A woman on the prowl. Zemma knew that kind of walk, though had never dared to do it. Frightened now, she turned her head to look back at the ship, the stairs, the door… it seemed to recede from her. Too far away! Cold fear trickled down her back and closed up her throat like a hand.

Somewhere, an alarm was sounding.

* * *

Somewhere else, Riddick felt the rushing sensation that sometimes accompanied his vision woman. She walked from the darkness, reaching for him, calling to him… 

_'Deinen! Deinen! Hurry! Help her!'_

He knew Hypatia had Zemma.


	45. A Trick and a Treat

045. A Trick and a Treat

* * *

Riddick was angry with himself. Hypatia had disappeared off his radar, with Don in her arms, so completely he had to wonder if she could fly. He'd seen her hit Don with speed that defied imagination… unless you were someone who'd fought the Necromonger Lord Marshal. Hours later he thought he'd caught her trail again, before the vision woman interrupted. He expected to find Hypatia holding Zemma hostage, what he came upon was worse.

* * *

Zemma couldn't move, and expected it would be the death of her. She wasn't even sure she could play her part out here, or even take her next full breath.

Hypatia stalked forward stiltedly, long legs taking hopelessly long strides. The skin of her forehead and cheeks glinted coolly in the starlight, creating shadowy pits where her eyes should be. As she got closer she grinned, unnaturally bright teeth clenched into something other than a gracious greeting. It was something feral.

…_All the better to eat you with, my dear…_

The body she carried was clearly dead, the head hung abnormally from the neck, as if the bones there had not just been broken but… liquefied. Every moment seemed to stutter along as if some invisible strobe light was breaking up the continuity of time for Zemma. Death was stalking straight at her, and it was bringing with it a parting gift of horror.

A new litany flowed through Zemma's mind. _Don't be Don. Can't be Riddick. Don't be Don. Can't be Riddick._

"Hey, Kitten!" Hypatia greeted Zemma like an old friend, as if the burden she carried was not the result of a horrendous crime. (How horrendous Zemma was yet to find out.)

"What are you doing out here so late?" Hypatia's voice was light and cordial even as she dumped the body at Zemma's feet. Zemma could only gasp in return.

"Oh, what's the matter, Kitten? That bad old man can't hurt you," Hypatia cooed and kicked the dead stranger at her feet. Zemma felt her stomach flip over slowly. That the man wasn't either of her boys was a relief she couldn't yet indulge in.

In the background, the alarm that had been blaring for several hundred years, by Zemma's perspective, was finally being answered. A human voice called out. Footsteps pounded their direction. Hypatia grinned. Zemma's heart sank at the sight of it.

If Zemma thought there would be more conversation, some explanation, then it was only because she didn't want to see what was going to happen next. She kept hoping Riddick would be along any moment to stop it all. Of course, he isn't really the save the maiden kind, said the one rational voice in the tumult of her mind. She didn't have time to muster a coherent response.

Hypatia glanced over her shoulder at the approaching guard, picked up the dead body, and tore into its throat with her teeth. The grin never left her eyes as she watched Zemma's reaction. For her part, Zemma could not move, could not give Hypatia any reaction at all. It didn't seem to matter. From her bloody mouth Hypatia whispered, "You'll give Jack a message for me, wont you Kitten?"

Zemma suddenly found herself nose to nose with the bloody monster that had raised Jack, the nearly decapitated body between them at their feet.

"Tell her I have the old man."

Zemma could only blink.

Moments later one of the 'Port Guards' showed up to see what fool had crossed the line and set off the perimeter alarm. Hypatia dispatched him with a knife. Still grinning, she caught the second body in her arms. She raised one dead arm, as it still clutched the gun the man had thought would be of some use, and shot Zemma with it. Zemma crumpled under the sonic bullet. Hypatia laid the guard on top of her, put the knife in Zemma's hand, and strode off with her 'dinner'.

The kitten was left surrounded by blood as if she were some deadly predator. Hypatia laughed into what was left of the night.

* * *

Zemma was lying on the ground, face first and handcuffed, a dead man lay nearby. Cops, well, mercenary rent-a-cops, swarmed the area, including _inside_ Riddick's ship. Riddick slowed his pace to a natural walk, dropped his lenses and slammed his emotions into neutral. Now was not the time to be angry. He had to find out what was going on before he could control the damage.

Later, he would be very angry.

D.B. Cooper had to be nothing more than curious.

Closer now, Riddick could see Zemma was not conscious, but seemed to be coming around. She was moaning in Furyan, calling for her Ferrin. Riddick was (sort of) glad he had not yet replaced her old man as hero in her subconscious mind. His name was a word he did not want to have to explain.

The tin-badges took him by the arms and started demanding a million justifications for something 'D.B. Cooper' could not possibly explain. While D.B. tried to sound mystified, Riddick heard one man exclaim quietly to another as they stood over Zemma's prone body,

"She sounds like the Squatters. Think she's one of theirs?"

"They usually take care of their own rats. But I guess they might sell a body to the Guilds if they really needed something, and really wanted to be rid of someone."

Meanwhile, D.B. Cooper was finding his voice. No, he didn't know what happened here, he'd been in town looking for someone to spend some time with. No, he didn't have any passengers, but he hadn't bothered to catch up on his manifest, either; everyone had gotten off at the last stop. He hadn't left the planet yet because he was hoping for confirmation on another paying run out-system so he wouldn't have to burn empty for too long, sometimes the mercs from orbital needed… yes, they could search the ship (he knew they already had, anyway)…

Zemma's eyes were starting to flutter open. He hoped she could hear his voice and would catch on fast, or there was about to be a lot more bodies littering the ground. Zemma took in a sharp breath, her eyes pinched closed. She was aware again, but did she understand?

No, he didn't know the woman. No he wasn't trying to smuggle indentureds off planet. No he didn't understand a word she was saying…

Outwardly, D.B. continued his steady stream of answers to the machine gun questioning. Inwardly, Riddick sighed a little in relief. Zemma, eyes still closed against the coming dawn, was quietly spewing every curse Riddick had learned in Furyan, and quite a few he hadn't, about the witch who had done this to her.

A moment later, one Port Guard reported his findings from inside the ship to a superior. No apparent passengers, but a few berths that seemed to have been inhabited at one time. Captain's quarters contained two dresses, hooker costumes, the man guessed. No one questioned the idea. It made Riddick realize how little Zemma had to her name, that the sparse contents of her life could be dismissed as the deviant collection of a lonely space captain. If Zemma heard, she didn't comment, even in Furyan.

Jack, of course, left no residue of her presence. It was a rule of flying under the radar. Don's things, his personal things, must have been well hidden. Those in command of this little cluster fuck seemed satisfied with their assumptions, given little evidence to the contrary:

Zemma was apparently one of the 'Squatters', possibly sold into indenture for crimes against her fellow refugees, and was trying to stow away onboard the unwisely unguarded frigate. D.B. was reprimanded and reminded that human cargo was strictly prohibited off planet. The unfortunate Port Authority Guardsman had been killed trying to stop her, but had gotten off a lucky shot. Case closed.

Zemma was on her way to prison.


	46. When The Levy Breaks

46. When The Levy Breaks

* * *

Zemma headed to prison, Don in Hypatia's clutches, Jack only god knows where. Riddick had started getting used to his little psycho-fuck family, enough to take them for granted; enough to be a little more than annoyed by their loss. He was angry with them for risking themselves, at himself for not taking better care of the situation, and at Hypatia… Mostly he was angry at Hypatia.

A psychotic android was just the sort of fucked up deal the Family would be involved in, Jack was a result of a Family deal gone bad, and as far as he knew they were the ones who cloned him too. His blood boiled, pounding in his temples like a storm tide. He could never get far enough away from the influences of the Family. Theirs was almost always the highest bounty on his head.

He realized his fists were bunched in rage. Old rage. One at a time he released them. He was used to being by himself. He was first a survivor. He was second a dealer of death. He'd survived Hypatia and stood alone, again. From assassin to king, and back to assassin. The fury ebbed out of him. A cold familiarity crept into his soul.

He hadn't realized when, exactly, he'd lost the icy chill that soothed the hot pulse of anger behind his eyes. It was comforting in some ways, to feel more like himself: ready for action with no one at his elbow, no plans to consider but his own. But he felt hollow too. He knew he'd always felt this way, at least until Carolyn had challenged him to come back to humanity. He'd been comfortable with it until Jack had crept into a little corner of his mind and crouched there, forever a child who needed him. He'd been accepting of it, until two Furians had looked him in the eye and seen an equal and a leader rather than a criminal. He'd thought he needed it until Zemma had stood quietly before him, unafraid… and made him laugh.

He pushed them all away, emptying his mind of everything but what he must do now. He couldn't think of any of them. Hypatia was too fast, too dangerous, to risk being encumbered by their presence, even in his mind. Zemma had called it the Now…

He stopped. He breathed. He pushed her away.

Death, up close and personal. That's who he was. That is who he needed to be. If he had any chance of saving them…

He stopped. He breathed in the last dredges of the night. He smelled blood. There was far too much blood to account for the one dead body. Zemma hadn't had a mark on her. Had Hypatia killed two people here? Had one of them been Don?

He stopped.

He breathed. Eyes closed, he pictured the scene as it must have been. Had Hypatia carried Don back here? Slowly he let the scents of the people who had been here flow into him. He couldn't place each scent to a face, but he could not detect Don among them at all, nor Jack. He pushed Zemma's face from his mind.

A year ago he wouldn't have believed that this moment could happen, let alone that it would be so hard. When had he changed so much? He was a killer. _'An amateur around here.' _Zemma had once said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Riddick ground his teeth, disgusted with himself.

Don was probably dead. Jack and Zemma were probably as safe in the MiniMax as any place, after all, it was all female and minimum security. He needed to forget them. He needed to forget the last year.

He was a killer. The bitch must die.

The sun came up behind him, lighting up the small, luxurious ship sitting not far away, just across the dirt tarmac. There was nothing he needed in the frigate, nothing he needed from the last year except the half dozen blades hidden on his body. The cold crept into his brain, soothing away the thoughts that had hampered him for all of the last two minutes. The dust from the last of the garrison trucks to leave was just settling, as was the conflict within him. He took a step towards Hypatia's ship. Adrenaline flowed. Action soothed.

There was nothing left to lose.

* * *

Zemma never opened her eyes. Tossed roughly in the back of a truck, her bruised body cried out, but her teeth stayed clenched so that only a grunt escaped her. She couldn't look back, couldn't open her eyes to see Riddick. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. He was still playing Captain Cooper as she felt the truck rumble to life and begin to pull away. His voice sounded unconcerned. She didn't have time to decide if she should take comfort in that.

The first bump tossed her in the air just a little as the truck gained speed over the rough rocky ground. Zemma gasped. She was manacled, hands behind her back. She couldn't reach out and hold onto anything. Her eyes pinched closed tighter. She could feel the cool open air blowing over her whole body. There was no way to hang onto anything. Panic rose in her, choking her more than the dust that swirled around her head and clung to her cheek. When the next bump in the road caused her to whimper, it evoked twin chuckles of amusement from her guards. Zemma curled into a ball. She tried not to think.

Time slowed. Zemma couldn't concentrate to count her heartbeats. She had no idea where they were headed. All she could think about was the open air and the coming sun. Images from her subconscious tried to force their way to the surface of her mind; the same ones she always struggled with, but now seemed even more terrifying since she could not escape the pending reality. A fearful sweat broke out on her body, and whisked away by the wind it made her shiver with cold dread. Her stomach flipped over the next bump. She tasted bile in the back of her throat. Every nerve, every muscle in her body was tensed to the point of pain. She prayed for darkness but couldn't bear to open her eyes, face the open sky, and fall into the nightmare she knew it would bring but couldn't quite remember. The joking voices of her guards were a buzz in her ears.

When the first warm orange rays of the morning sun struck her, Zemma finally fell away from reality.

* * *

Don shivered in the cold black, only slightly conscious. Pain filled his universe as much as fear overloaded Zemma's, and anger had nearly exploded in Riddick's.

"It's a bad break," a soft voice floated down into the pit of Don's mind. "Sorry about that." But the laughter that followed belied any sense of remorse. "Cryin' wont help you, prayin' wont do you no goooooood," the voice sang softly. Riddick would have recognized the classical lyric, but Don was too far gone to realize it was anything but a taunt.

"Kill me and get it over with, bitch," he wheeze through gritted teeth.

"I only kill for profit," the voice came closer. Hypatia straddled Don's chest and poked at the visible bone showing through torn flesh. His scream elicited a moan of pleasure from the monster; she touched his face gently.

Don opened his eyes. The faint light of pre-dawn illuminated the grim visage hanging over him. The pale face was half covered with blood. Black eyes and luminescent white teeth loomed close.

"How much are you worth to me?" The creature whispered. A demented giggle followed a hardy slap across Don's face. "Will the hero follow his fair, retarded maiden to prison… or search out his loyal manservant in the hands of the beast? And where does our precious Jack fall in his priorities? Where do _you_ fall in Jack's?"

Zemma in prison? What the hell?

Hypatia's rail thin frame was considerably heavier than it looked, pressing all the breath out of him. "Riddick is going to kill you," Don managed to choke out the words.

"Oooh, the dogs of doom howl and moan," Hypatia sing-songed. "Nobody will kill me. Nobody."

Hypatia's hands suddenly tightened around Don's head, her tone serious again. "How much are you worth to me, old man?" With one quick turn of her wrists she could snap his neck.

"Nothing," Don spit. "You'll get nothing for me."

"Should I believe you, just snap off this head of yours?" Her fingers tightened in his hair. "Should I just scoop out your brain and be done with it?" Her other hand tightened against his chin, fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks. Don refused any sound and closed his eyes to the manic ones only inches from his face. Her breath smelled of blood.

"I only kill for profit," she whispered again, her lips brushing Don's. "But I torture just for me." With that one hand left his face only to squeeze his broken arm, grinding the bones together. Don screamed until the darkness ate him.

* * *

A tall, well built Slavic woman stared at Jack. Jack stared back, undaunted by the bars that separated them.

"Audrey Brighton VanVoorste?" The woman asked politely.

Jack ignored her, ignored the name that might have been hers if she hadn't been stolen away from the tyrannical egomaniac that had contracted to buy her and a twin sister. Her real mother had called her Audrey. Hypatia never forgot that. Middle names came and went according to Hypatia's particular mood. But the Van Voorste always got people's attention.

Van Voorste meant money and power and guaranteed cooperation. It almost always meant the tyrant heard of Jack's adventures too. Hypatia loved rubbing his face in the fact that she controlled what he had paid so dearly for.

Jack had named herself when she started running away from Hypatia: Jack B. Badd, sometimes Jack B. Goode. She had warrants under both names, and half a dozen more. She'd added the B after she heard Riddick introduce himself.

"Your guardian is very worried about you, Audrey." The woman went on slowly. "I'm sure your father is too."

That elicited a snort from Jack.

"But we have a problem, young lady."

Jack sneered at the patronizing tone of the Wardeness. She knew it only masked greed. Hypatia always paid a fortune to get her out, and sufficient hush money to keep her just far enough under the radar that Van Voorste couldn't track them both. Jack wondered what the first offer was. She wondered if she could make enough trouble to thwart Hypatia this time.

"You killed some of my people."

Jack shrugged. "Give me a little time, I'll kill you all."

The warden took it as an idle threat. "I wonder if it would be in your best interest to let you serve some time here. You shouldn't consider yourself above the law because you think your father's name carries any weight outside his system."

Jack knew the name carried weight in every system. All she heard was greed.

"Take her to P.C.U." The wardeness directed.

Jack tried to jump out of the way of the shock-stick but it didn't matter in the little cage. All she could do was scream obscenities until her nervous system shut down.


	47. The Devil Mocks Their Every Step

The Devil Mocks Their Every Step

* * *

_Six or so years ago…_

Hypatia followed the Hunter-Gratzner from a safe distance. She wasn't thrilled about its flight plan. The Taurus system was very back-roads: a shortcut, to be sure, but a dangerous one. With only one shipping lane and beacons placed few and far between, any incident this far off the beaten path would likely see you flash frozen before you could be rescued. Freezing solid and confined spaces were the only things Hypatia feared, though few lived long enough to discover such things about her.

Jack knew she didn't like small spaces. Most buildings sturdy enough to resist her punching right through the walls were strictly off-limits to Hypatia. The little sloop was only comfortable because it was plugged right into her. Nanos from Hypatia's blood also flowed through the nervous system of the experimental ship. It was her and she was it.

And so was Jack.

Without the nanos also flowing through Jack's veins, Hypatia would not be able to track her so easily. Cryo-sleep made it more difficult, but the pull was there still, faint, silent and inescapable. Jack didn't know that part. Jack thought it was some kind of magic. That suited Hypatia. 'Let her think I am omniscient,' she smiled to herself, 'as well as all-powerful.'

Hypatia delighted in being a god to Jack. God and the Devil all rolled into one perfect package. Hypatia decided who lived and who died, she alone had power over Jack… and Jack's potential.

The other one, the twin, wasn't nearly as interesting. Catherine was her name but Hypatia didn't bother with it. Jack had never met her sister, and again, Hypatia delighted in those little uses of power when it came to Jack. She kept the sister safe, educated, nearly as pampered as the two might have been had they been delivered to their proper owner. Still, she was a prisoner in the little asteroid Hypatia might have called home if she felt such things. One day, when the time came, when it would be a complete shock to Jack, Hypatia might introduce them to each other. But maybe not. Maybe she would never tell either of them that she owned them both.

Jack knew there was a sister. She often ran away to find her. Hypatia let her, enjoying the game. Once Hypatia had cured Jack of a terrible wound with her own nano-infested blood, Jack was hers forever. Then she'd killed the man who had dared cut her precious little girl. Never mind Hypatia had used Jack as bait to snare the child molester in the first place. It was immaterial she had planned to kill him all along. She cut him slowly to ribbons as Jack watched, wide eyed and shocky from both the wound and the cure.

"I'll always take care of you," Hypatia had cooed to the crying girl. "Don't worry. I'll always protect you." Jack, still Audrey then, had nodded and Hypatia hugged the girl to her blood soaked chest. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. I love you; you know that, don't you? You're mine."

Mine.

Hypatia saw disaster looming. A rogue comet, or perhaps just a larger piece of the debris field that occupied the system of M-344/G that had been torn loose and torn apart, was heading for the freighter that carried her beloved child. Agony, one of the few emotions she could truly feel, pierced her brain. Hypatia maneuvered to avoid the same fate. She watched anxiously as the ship cascaded down to one of the planets. It took much too long to get reoriented and make for landing on it. All the while the planet itself shielded Jack from Hypatia's extraordinary senses.

Hours later, Hypatia flew into what could be described as total darkness. To her, of course, it was not pitch black, but merely dim. What obscured her instruments were the several different pieces of the freighter that crashed far from each other. What obscured her vision was the mass of flying creatures that seemed to be swarming the planet's surface. Hours more passed as Hypatia checked each site for warm bodies that didn't have wings.

The final site offered not just shipwreck but apparently also some kind of settlement. Hypatia flew in low and fast, cutting power and gliding in close, landing roughly along the ridge of one sand dune. She opted not to take lasers; even her reflexes could not take back a lethal beam of light if Jack surprised her. Armed with blades of sufficient length to handle the annoying raptors, and a syringe of nanos in case Jack was wounded, Hypatia set out across the landscape.

She was not warm enough to attract the attention of the birds, though perhaps, she mused, they were simply too engaged in eating each other to bother with a terrestrial body. Strange blood fell like rain as the larger birds ate the smaller ones and fought each other over the medium sized ones. It amused Hypatia to watch. Humankind was rather like that, and as equally oblivious to her presence… the superior predator in their midst.

A human scream drew her attention like a whiplash. It had sounded young and female, though it was impossible to tell if it was Jack through the noise of the creatures swarming not 30 meters overhead. One large beast was attacking another, a body fell. Hypatia sprinted through the sand. Several smaller animals had to be cut down as they swarmed the still warm body.

"Jack!" Hypatia shouted as engines roared to life somewhere ahead of her. She turned the body over, revealing a massive chest wound and small elfin face topped with blonde hair.

"Damnit!" Hypatia stood and kicked the barely breathing body, then cut down a few more birds that had come too close, just because it pleased her to kill something.

"Jack," the woman at her feet whispered hoarsely.

That got Hypatia's attention. She knelt back down again as a few larger beasties scattered the smaller ones that hoped to make a meal off the soon to be corpse at her feet.

"Where's Jack?" Hypatia shouted into the dying woman's face.

"Riddick…" the word was slightly less than a whisper, but it rang loudly in Hypatia's ears. It was a klaxon of alarm going off in her head. Riddick! The Family? Here?

"Where are they?" She shouted and had to pause long enough to kill a large raptor that had mistakenly taken her for prey.

"Kill me, please…"

Overhead, a tiny ship, most likely a shuttle, blazed into the starry sky. Who? Who was in there?

"Who is in that?"

"Please," a final dying plea, "kill me."

"Oh, Hell no." Hypatia plunged the long needle into the heart of the broken human. It would keep her alive long enough to be interrogated.

The walk back to her ship took longer with the body in tow. Several dozen more birds had to be shown who was true monster in the darkness.

Once on the ship the female regained consciousness long enough to start her insipid begging for death again. Spine broken and internal organs irreparably damaged, Hypatia only had to ignore her to let her wish come true. But she _needed_ answers, and _before_ she left the surface of the planet. It would do her no good to come face to face with some ship directed by the Family. The shuttle simply could not be trying to escape on its own.

Another syringe of nanos stabilized the pathetic creature, but couldn't heal it enough to save it, let along torture it. Hypatia had to take more drastic measures, a steady stream of nanos, for one. She looked into the bloody hole of the woman and went to work. It would never walk again, it could never be disconnected from the life support of the ship, but it would talk… for as long as Hypatia willed it.


	48. What Should Never Be

48. What Should Never Be

* * *

A cool shadow stretched across the dirt tarmac. Riddick could clearly see the footprints of his intended victim extending out into the desert, but the ship was his first mission. The bitch would not get away from him by jumping off this rock. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. Only Jack crouched quietly in the dark. Riddick could bring her back to the light. 

The little sloop gleamed. It beckoned. He wouldn't kill it, he might need it, but he would make damn sure the bitch wouldn't escape him in it. There was always something you could pull of an engine that would render it useless. Perhaps he would find something useful there as well.

He didn't start with the door. Hatchways were meant to be opened from the outside for maintenance, and were typically easier to break into. Once resealed from the inside the interior hatches seldom gave him any problem either. You just couldn't open them both at once. Without much effort, Riddick was in the bowels of the ship. He spent a little time disabling it, in several places, everything he could fix quickly if he needed to but should frustrate the hell out of anyone else.

He took a little time to look around after that. Never knew what you might find that could be handy. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. Jack stayed silent in her dark place. There was time. Every room got a glance. Some got more than that. None offered anything helpful.

Oddly, the pilot's deck was locked. It wasn't an easy break in. Riddick had to resort to strength over finesse. Finally, he won out and entered the small cabin. It was brightly lit from the rising sun and Riddick had to drop his lenses, hardly realizing that it was becoming second nature. A more practiced instinct drew him instantly to attention. The cabin wasn't empty, someone occupied it. Riddick froze, ready for any assault.

No one leaped out. There was no place to hide but the pilot's chair. He listened to raspy, labored breathing for a moment, trying to determine if the inhabitant was asleep or merely waiting to attack. He didn't think anyone could have missed his noisy entrance. No movement solved the question. Riddick breathed in slowly, letting the dusty tang tell him what he was about to face. The image the scent produced had to be wrong.

One silent footfall followed another as he eased his way into the room. The blade that had appeared in his hand like magic rested lightly, ready to parry or cut any direction. He turned his head only fractionally to the right or the left, more to listen than to see. He had already determined there was no place to hide in this room. He made his way to the high backed pilot's seat. Someone was there, someone who couldn't be. His senses had to be lying to him. Grief was playing havoc with his mind and memories.

The first glimpse of straw blond hair made him pause, mentally as well as his forward motion. Eyes and nose agreed; he knew this person. His mind still rebelled against the logic. Despite all the strange things in the world he had seen and been privy to, this was not possible. His whole body tensed. He was sure it had to be a trick, a distraction, and that Hypatia must really be waiting to step from the nowhere from whence she disappeared to confront him now.

A long moment passed. Still there was no movement, no sound but the hoarse breathing. It sounded as you would expect a corpse to sound if it should suddenly try to defy its nature. He pushed the image violently from his mind. It simply could not be. It had to be a trick, or he was losing it. Don was dead. Zemma was gone. And Carolyn was very, very dead.

She could not have lived. Hypatia could not have found her. She must be a construct, meant to torment him or Jack.

He stepped forward again, and to the side, to confront whatever monstrous puppet the android had left for him. He almost expected a comic bookish sign saying 'gotcha'.

What he saw was much, much worse.

A skeletal frame, pale and ashy, the skin tight and patchy as if it could not contain enough moisture, sat strapped in, hands loosely grasping the controls. A ragged hole filled with plastic tubing connected the torso to the console. Viscous silvery-white fluid flowed slowly from the ship to the body and back again. Short, harsh breaths, almost snoring, caused the chest to rise and fall in imitation of life. The face, tipped downward as if the body was only taking a nap, was obscured by dry, straw blonde hair that looked as if it had been cut hastily with a dull knife.

And still he could not believe it was Carolyn. It could not be. It should never be.

A choking gasp interrupted the rhythm of sleep. Slowly the head raised up, as if unseeing eyes were following the contours of his booted feet and leather clad thighs up, up all the way to his face. Blue eyes swam large in the elfin face, and seemed bigger for the gauntness of the features. A thin smile cracked chapped lips.

"Riddick," a raspy but much too familiar voice whispered. "You've come back to me."

Carolyn's head tilted back against the seat, eyes closing softly, the smile never waning. "I haven't dreamed of you in so long."

Riddick's guts twisted harshly. His vision swam for just a moment. In the shadows, Jack cried soundlessly. He knelt down beside the decimated figure of the only person who ever surprised him… until Zemma.

_(Don's dead. Zemma's gone.) _

He lifted one hand to the wan and wasted face, laid it gently on one cheek. "Carolyn?" His voice cracked softly. She turned her face into his palm.

"Best dream, ever, Riddick." She murmured. "Thank you for coming back."

"Oh, God," Riddick didn't mean for the words to escape his brain with such anger.

Carolyn Fry's dry blue eyes flew open. She searched his face, and seeing the agony there a crease folded between her brows. "Riddick?" Her voice was questioning, disbelieving, and a little stronger.

The blade disappeared and Riddick brought his other hand to her face, ran it through her hair. "I'm here," he told her, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "I didn't know, Carolyn. I'm sorry."

"Here?" Her eyes never left his face. "You came back?"

Six years. Six years of this nightmare.

"I came back." He couldn't look away from her, for fear she'd think he was just another dream that would disappoint her again. "I won't leave you."

Tears filled but did not spill from her eyes. She rubbed her cheek against his palm. "I know," she told him. "I always knew. I believed."

He wanted to ask… how had any of this happened? He wasn't sure she would, or could, tell him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The obvious was too horrible, the details might be more than she wanted to recount. They couldn't be more than he should hear.

"How?"

"Because you went back for them. You went back for Jack." Her voice trailed off, one nightmare recalled in the midst of another. Riddick wasn't sure if she had misunderstood his question or chose not to answer it. He didn't ask it again.

"I'll get you out of here, Carolyn."

She shook her head slowly, never losing contact with his hand on her face. She looked so sad… for him.

"You have to kill me, Riddick. Please." Her voice was pleading, but almost hopeful on the end.

As he started to shake his head her brow furrowed again. It went smooth as she turned away from him just enough to kiss his rough palm with her lips. "Yes. You can."

"Carolyn…" He took his hand away from her face to pull one of her hands from the controls. It resisted. She looked down.

"Let go," she almost choked on the command voice, so long disused.

Startled and curious, he did. Her hand slowly rose back to its position on the yoke.

"I can't control it, Riddick. I can't move at all except for how she's programmed it." Her voice was sad and desperate. "Please, help me. Please, kill me. I can't do it by myself."

She was looking back into his eyes, pleading with him.

Rage rose up in him. He pulled away from Carolyn and her hopeless, desperate request. _The bitch would pay for this._ He turned and pounded one fist into an instrument panel. It didn't give, pain flashed brilliantly. With it came a cool rush of adrenaline. It didn't ease the ache that lay deeper.

She'd once believed he was more than a killer. She'd once made him believe it too. That had surprised him. She'd come back for him, to save him, because she thought he was worth her own life, no matter what she said, her actions had spoken her beliefs. She hadn't done it because she needed him. She could have piloted the little shuttle herself. She'd done it because…

He'd struggled for years to understand why she'd done it at all. She'd wanted to go back for the little girl and the holy man because it was right. She felt responsible for them. They needed her.

He didn't need her. She didn't need him. But she'd come back for him anyway.

She'd died for him.

Now… she wanted him to kill her.

He turned slowly to face her again. She hadn't looked away. Thin tears, silvery like the fluids that forced her to live, tracked down her face. She couldn't even reach up to wipe them away.

Two steps brought him back to her. One hand wiped the tears away.

"Why did you come back for me?" His voice choked with confusion he seldom felt. People were predictable. People didn't surprise him.

_(Dead. Gone.)_

"You deserved it," Spoken softly, a tiny smile followed. He'd heard those words many times in his life but never like that.

She deserved so much more than all he had to give her.

He knelt down again, laid one hand against her face again. The other hand retrieved the blade. He turned her more to face him. He did not want to miss; he wanted it to be fast.

"Don't leave me here," she whispered, eyes closed.

"I won't." His voice, and his hand, were steady.

"Save Jack?" Her eyes flew open again.

"I will," he looked steadily into her face, seeing it as it was once. He wondered what might have been.

She gasped only a little, but then she smiled. All the pain left her face. One more ragged breath filled her. Her last words filled him.

"Welcome…back… to the human…race…"

He pulled all the wires and tubes from her before the machines could piece back together the rend in her heart, and revive her again. Limp and impossibly light in his arms, he carried her from the golden ship, using the airlocks so he wouldn't have to put her down. He looked at the frigate for just a moment…

_(dead gone)_

…thinking of the cryo cells there. But that's exactly what they were, cells: A prison. He walked into the desert instead, away from the path Hypatia had taken. He walked until he couldn't anymore and then he just sat down and hugged Carolyn Fry to his chest.

She'd saved him. He'd killed her.

He did something he'd never done. He cried. He cried until the body in his arms was cold, and the cold had soaked into his brain and soul.

Some time later, something feral stalked away from Carolyn's grave.

_(dead_

_...gone)_


	49. Dark Echoes

49. Dark Echoes

Cold, dark echoes seeped into the lonely, over-bright nightmare world that trapped Zemma. It had once been meant to be a place of safety and security, but the simple parkland with its yellow sun and blue skies, a place Zemma had never seen in living memory, had become an alien landscape filled with suppressed memories, fear and untapped power that left her dizzy and nauseous.

Or it might simply be motion sickness.

Zemma realized she was lying on a cold, hard surface – no longer moving against her will, no longer suffering that giddy sense of flying. Human voices buzzed around her, bouncing off the surfaces of an enclosed space. She had no idea how much she missed the sound until it enveloped her. It meant _walls_ surrounded her again; sunlight no longer burned against her eyelids… she was safely _inside_ somewhere.

She nearly sighed with relief, nearly opened her eyes to affirm what her ears were telling her, but caution was ingrained in her.

She wasn't immediately aware that she was counting her heartbeats, anymore than she was aware that she'd been calling for her father again, or even the nature of the nightmare that plagued her whenever she had to face the world outside the metallic confines of a ship. No more than her mother had been aware of how alien and frightening 'outside' would become to a woman who had never stepped outside a ship in 32 years.

As she calmed herself of all the vague anxiousness, and took stock of her situation, pain throbbed into her consciousness. She felt bruised and battered over every inch of her body. Memories of her most immediate past flooded in as well: fear and blood, the crushing shock of being hit by the sonic weapon…and for just a moment her mind leaped sideways, wondering what made a sound rifle works but only because she didn't want to picture Hypatia's face, her words: 'Tell Jack I have the old man…'

Riddick's voice flooded her memories next. His Captain Cooper voice was not so unlike his own that it would fool anyone who had actually met Riddick. To the strangers, though, Captain Cooper sounded just slightly drunk, mostly astonished, and generally cooperative. To Zemma, however, his tone spoke volumes beyond his few words. Tight vocal control radiated anger that Zemma wasn't sure was aimed at her or not. She could guess that it was; she's gone directly against Riddick's orders by leaving the ship.

She remembered Riddick's anger at jack for doing the very same thing. Like Jack, she'd put herself in harm's way, and played right into Hypatia's clutches. Yes. She could imagine Riddick was furious with her now.

Now. The Now...

The voices around her were becoming clearer than the voices in her head. Two voices debated what to do with her. Others, further away, seemed entirely focused on tasks unrelated to her. Some words impacted her more than others. She heard the word 'prisoner' several times and the implication, which had quite gone over her head when she had been focused only on Riddick's voice for clues about what he would do and what she was meant to do, finally sunk in.

She was in prison, likely the one Riddick felt sure Jack had gone to in order to elude both him and Hypatia. Hypatia must have known it as well. 'Tell Jack I have the old man,' she remembered and had to suppress a shudder. The next moment dawned a new thought: Riddick had just let her be taken away to prison!

He'd taken on hordes of Mongers, been surrounded by them and had no compunction about starting and ending any physical confrontation that presented itself. But he had not broken character to take on the less than a dozen poorly motivated, and likely poorly trained, port guards to keep her. He'd let them take her away.

She found herself counting again, eyes still closed to her surroundings, as a shocked truth settled into her. Riddick had let them take her away! Riddick had not tried to save her from her own folly. He most certain was pissed at her, but more or less angry at her than Don, or at Jack?

They'd all been foolish in some way. Hypatia had Don, dead or alive was not certain but probably alive…hopefully alive. Jack's list of the foolishness was too long to list in Zemma's mind and still it did not stop Zemma from wanting her back. Only Riddick was still free and now reduced to taking on Hypatia alone. Zemma wanted to pound her head into the cold, dirty floor under her cheek. Yes. Riddick had good reason to be mad.

So mad that he'd let them take her away.

Guild, anger and confusion warred for supremacy in her thinking. He couldn't have been intimidated by the number of guards. Had Hypatia wounded him again? Was he punishing her for breaking her promise to be careful?

More than that, sweetie, you'd promised not to even leave the ship.

That she was now thinking clearly enough to argue with herself was not a comfort. She couldn't escape the voice of truth for long.

Think things would look up if you talked yourself into believing he has a plan for you to contact Jack in here?

He could… He could want me to find Jack…

Yah. That was the plan all along, the snide voice replied.

But was he mad enough at her to just let them take her away? What happened to Don, did Riddick even know?

The voice was silent on these topics.

The other voices, the outer ones of the guards, had finally come to come conclusion by their tone. She heard a creak of a door open and boot steps come close. The kick was unexpected. She thought she felt something give along her ribcage as all the air was forced out of her. Her body convulsed and she thought she must have made some sound.

"Now she needs hospital," said a voice over her head.

Zemma couldn't help coughing, which made the pain in her side worse. She thought she might throw up. She had a hard time catching her breath. None the less, a string of Furian expletives seemed to find their way out of her mouth.

"What the fuck is she sayin'?" said the guard a few feet away.

The one standing over her head delivered another kick by means of a reply. This time the crack from her ribs was audible, causing the other guard to exclaim, "Hey, watch it!"

The man over her didn't even laugh in embarrassment for his sadism. "She killed one of ours," he snorted. "Bitch."

Zemma couldn't catch her breath even to curse him, the dry heaves causing the broken rib to poke painfully against one lung. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her jaw clenched shut to hold back the scream.

"Yer awake now, huh?"

Zemma couldn't answer if she'd wanted to, but then he didn't seem to need an answer. He hauled her up with one massive and calloused hand, the other grabbing her face by the chin.

"You speakee Standard?" he almost bellowed in her face while she risked opening her eyes a bit.

He was huge, unshaven and his breath was foul. She felt her gorge rise again, the involuntary movement shifting the rib painfully. She closed her eyes again to prevent tears from spilling down her face. She kept her mouth clamped shut.The guards fingers dug painfully into her armpit, as he continued to breathe into her face as if, this time, he expected an answer. He squeezed her jaw, trying to force her mouth open as she clenched her teeth tighter, unwilling to give him any satisfaction by her reaction.

Min would be of no help here. He might delight in trying to make her cry. Zemma was unprepared to deal with the situation. She couldn't be herself, the idea was appalling, but she didn't have anyone else she could be either. She simply froze, her silent resistance her only armor.

When he spat in her face she didn't consciously choose to react, but her hands came up anyway. A spearhand to his throat so fast he never saw it cause him to finally let go of her and stumble back gagging. Zemma's eyes flew open as her feet touched the floor again. She was in no shape to fight her way out of there but she seemed bent on trying anyway. The other guard's eyes bugged out when only one step towards him was enough to launch her in the air at him, her foot catching him in the solar plexus. Her ribs screamed protests at the impact but he went down with a surprised grunt and she was leaping over him, searching desperately for a way out.

She was in a cave, unfinished but full of busy people. She was standing in front of an open, barred cage. Bright sunlight streamed in to her left and she bolted for it, knowing it was useless but determined to try. Voices shouted above her, a P.A. system blared to life, a vehicle started sluggishly, all while Zemma's mind screamed 'No!' and her legs propelled her forward anyway.

Running hard, broken rib stabbing into her lung repeatedly and shortening her breath, she could see her goal outside: a dirt road in a barren landscape of dirt and rocks. She couldn't see the sky yet, so panic had not quite set in, she just charged forward. Then the first bright rays struck her face and Zemma closed her eyes as she exited the cave. Shouts and jeers followed but the din was immediately swallowed by the vastness. Zemma ran forward blindly, panic rising in her. She was outside!

She had to open her eyes, she was stumbling over rocks. She could hear a vehicle approaching. She tried to keep her eyes on her feet, to not look up, but she had to see where she was going. Seeing blue sky caught her breath in her throat. Her feet slowed. She tried to take a deep breath. She tried to move her feet faster. She tried to look away from the early morning sun straight ahead of her, sitting like a bright orange plate just off the horizon.

The colors were all wrong, but the sight still made her heart leap into her throat. What might have happened next, if she could this time in a burst of panic and adrenaline beat the looming nightmare, was made moot by the stun stick that hit her. Darkness ruled.

She woke as she always did, eyes still closed and listening to the room around her. She didn't immediately remember where she was, familiar scents were absent and she couldn't move her arms and legs. Her broken rib pained her. Memories flooded back.

Prison. Her failed escape into the face of the sun. Then nothing. Now she was tied or strapped down in some way to a bed.

The guards had wondered at her speech and now she wondered about those they called The Squatters. Zemma didn't hear any other voices in the room, let alone Furyan voices.

Just because they don't understand doesn't mean they'd recognize Furyan, her rational mind pointed out, and Zemma didn't argue. Any language they heard other than their own mind sound alike to them. Zemma had heard many languages over the years. Her nueanced ear could pick out difference in rhythm and syntax easily. Furyan words ran consonants together, sometimes even whole words for emphasis. Probably any language that sounded mush-mouthed sounded the same to these men.

She decided to continue to play dumb. Min was too innocent for this place but a foreigner might be spoken in front of almost as freely as an imbecile.

Zemma realized suddenly she was not alone in the room anymore when a change in air pressure indicated the opening of a door. The footsteps that echoed across the room were decided female, light quick steps of a woman's high heels. Zemma kept her eyes closed, and regulated her breathing to mimic sleep. The footsteps stopped at the endof the bed Zemma occupied. A fine clicking sound vibrated minimally through the metal frame. A woman's long fingernail tapping?

"Do you understand the words I'm saying to you?" asked a calm, authoritative feminine voice.

Zemma declined to answer or even open her eyes.

"I know you're awake now. Even if the monitors hadn't shown the change, you've been talking in your sleep."

This startled Zemma. She opened her eyes to take in the woman and the room they occupied. The woman was tall, olive skinned and dark eyed with long dark hair. She was handsome rather than beautiful and Zemma thought that part of it was the woman's bearing. She held herself very tall but so relaxed that the posture had to be carefully cultivated. She was a person of power who wielded it very carefully. Zemma was very familiar with her kind. There were bold and thoughtless Mongers and there were clever, more subtle Mongers. This one was subtle, and that made her dangerous.

The room was more obvious, an infirmary with barred windows where sunlight streamed in. She avoided looking there. Otherwise it was clean, white, and barren of anything but chain adorned beds and a massive, locked no doubt, steel door. Black glass bulbs in the corners did nothing to hide the cameras that monitored the room from the ceiling.

"Are you one of the Squatters?" the woman asked mildly.

That word again. Zemma was starting to get very curious now. She had a vague understanding of that the word meant. They all thought she was part of a group of people who didn't talk like the rest. Still, Zemma ignored the woman. There was too much she didn't know and feigning even more ignorance than she had seemed the only way to learn more.

The woman turned to a camera. "Send him in." She turned away from Zemma but glanced back over her shoulder at the bed as if to verify Zemma couldn't escape it.

Zemma tested the strength of the bonds that held her in the bed. The straps were solid and she didn't think she could break or slip them. She turned herself a little, feeling for leverage. Her broken rib ached from even the small movement but didn't seem to be poking her in the lung any longer. They'd probably given her nanos. Lucky. But she had no means to take advantage of her luck. She simply could not move enough. She closed her eyes to think and felt sleep stealing up on her.

Another voice woke her sometime later. Zemma hated that feeling of having lost time, even a few minutes, and tried to center herself, listening with her eyes closed again.

"Could you understand her?" the authoritative woman asked softly.

A soft grumble was the reply. "I already told you, I don't recognize her," a low bass voice said with some agitation. "I can account for all my people."

The soft slip of a shoe on polished floor told Zemma he was standing at the foot of her bed and turning away.

"When she was talking in her sleep, did you understand her?" The woman's voice was irritated, she was used to being obeyed, and yet Zemma could hear a forced respect as well. Perhaps she knew she could not intimidate the man and needed to wheedle his cooperation? Or perhaps she just always spoke so.

"Who understands the dream talk of another?" was the dismissive, philosophical reply.

"I think you did." The politeness was gone from the woman's voice, though she still spoke softly. Some open ended, oblique threat hung in the air.

"What does it matter?" The stranger's voice implied he might share one secret for another.

Eyes still closed, and hoping she was feigning sleep well enough not to be noticed this time, Zemma shivered mentally. What had she said in her sleep? Could the man really have understood her? She dismissed the thought as outlandish.

"She's not chipped," the woman's voice was reasonable. "She isn't on the rolls. Who is she and why did she kill one of my men?"

Her tone was almost too reasonable. Zemma thought she was hiding behind a truthful lie and suspected Jack was the source of it. Jack really could be here somewhere as Riddick thought!

"She's not one of mine. Our contract is still valid," the man said dismissively.

"But you know what she said," the woman almost purred. It was no longer a question and Zemma felt a cold sweat break out over her skin. Who she was and the language she spoke had been Zemma's greatest secret her whole life.

His pause, a heartbeat longer than necessary seemed like a dismissive shrug to Zemma's well trained ear.

"She was calling for her father," the man's voice echoed off the far wall, tension in his tone showing that he did not care to divulge even that small thing to the woman. He liked to keep his secrets as well. But Zemma's eyes flew open even as she dared a shred a hope she had no business having. She had to see this man. He was not suggesting a guess but a fact. He had heard her speaking mumbled Furyan in her sleep and understood it!

Zemma saw through lowered lashes the back of a tall man with silver hair. Nothing of his dress told her more than his voice. The woman, however, was facing Zemma and caught something. She smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"She's awake," she said brightly, but as always in that soft, measured tone.

The man turned slowly, first just his head, as if he might still dismiss the issue, but the woman was looking at him expectantly now. Almost shrugging he turned to face Zemma, strapped to her hospital bed.

His face was hard, like a statue or a fresco, he showed nothing of what he might be thinking. Zemma let her eyes open all the way and studied him right back, trying to hold her face as still as his, but her teeth were clamped together and his eyes flicked from hers – had he been expecting the blue shine of her lenses?- to her jawline and back again. Was he as good at reading the little tells on a person's face as Riddick?

Zemma took in a slow deep breath, counting by threes and grasping for the calm center of the Now and stifling the questions she wanted to ask.

"Do you understand me?" He asked almost as if he didn't expect to be answered and was impatient to leave with the silence intact.

Zemma debated the answer a thousand times in the next second. Riddick used quiet like a club. Jack filled any still moment with fearful babble that was meant to sound bold. Zemma thought of her tigers and sought their strength. Her teeth were locked together and now her lips pressed into a thin line. Would he read her answer in her face, she almost hoped so.

A tiny upshift of his head acknowledged her: 'I understand but I will not speak,' she'd said to him in her way. 'I accept that,' he'd said back to her.

The man turned back to the woman without another glance at Zemma, dismissing her very presence. He was obviously not shocked as she to hear another Furyan voice and that sent more questions through Zemma's mind. He was willing to leave her to her fate for reasons of his own.

"She is not one of mine and she won't talk. If she can understand Standard is your best guess. Now if you have no further use…"

"No." The woman cut him off. She had never taken her eyes off Zemma's face and perhaps she too could read between the silence. "She understands you." The woman leaned onto the curved metal bar that was the foot of the bed. "I want to know what she is doing here."

The glance she gave the older man punctuated the finality of her words. She would be obeyed and she had some power over him to see to it. The man never wavered on his feet, never moved a muscle to show he accepted her authority over him. He was as good as Riddick in telegraphing only what he chose to.

Zemma kept her curiosity on check with only the greatest willpower. She could not answer any question without knowing more herself. There was politics being played out in front of her here and she did not know if she could safely ask for his aid. She did not know how he came to know Furyan and could not hope what was implied, and what was impossible to believe.

Trusting once before that just being Furyan meant a man was her ally and nearly gotten her killed. There were too many variables involved here.

"Ask her where she came from. I want to know why she's here." The woman's voice was so deceptively calm, so controlled. Dame Vakko had nothing on this one.

The stranger who spoke Furyan turned just fractionally Zemma's direction. "You heard her," he said in Furyan. "I can't imagine you've gone thirty years off planet without learning a lick of Standard. Can you tell me why I should cover for you with her?"

Was he offering her some way out, or just trying to draw her out? What would… that was simple enough, really, Riddick would tell him to go fuck himself and take on the whole prison alone. Zemma didn't think she could do that. She needed information, and an ally.

"I came searching for one of mine," she told him. The word she used couldn't translate well into standard. Like Don, Zemma was claiming a kind of kinship to Jack that required certain obligations of her above all other considerations. If the man was truly Furyan, and not just a clever linguist, he would understand. She waited to see what he would tell the woman.

He nodded once, his eyes never making contact with hers but seemed to be casting all around, searching for a clue to a believable lie to tell. If the woman had looked at him that one unguarded moment she might have read it from his face but she continued to bore holes into Zemma with her stare.

"Pirates," he said simply, and once again his face was a mask of bronze and silver. Zemma kept her astonishment in check. He was lying for her! He had to be Furyan, and an ally!

"Her family was gypsy, I'm guessing," he went on. "She said they were attacked by pirates."

"And she escaped to… here?" The woman seemed dubious but apparently had no reason to distrust the man. She felt she had complete control of him. "Ask her how she ended up here."

The man did not give her away by not repeating some question. They were just his own now. "Did you kill that guard?"

"No," she answered simply but needed to say more to cover the false answer the woman was looking for. Zemma had to trust the man to know more about escaping from pirates than she did. "Someone is trying to hurt my girl…" Zemma stammered, trying to boil down the truth to a few sentences. "She may be hiding here. The one seeking her thought to send a message through me that we could not escape by hiding here. That one killed the guard."

He had to hear in her voice that it was more complicated than that, but she hoped he would see the truth there too.

"She escaped the pirates and has been stowing away from ship to ship. She says she didn't kill your man."

"Of course she says that," the woman sneered. "I have nothing but innocent and falsely accused girls in this prison. Obviously she killed him when he caught her trying to get onboard that freighter. Ask her if the Captain gave her permission. I don't trust him. Pretty girl like that could make a better deal for herself than hiding in the hold if she wanted to."

Zemma saw the trap and hoped he did as well. If she had made a deal with the captain then she could speak standard.

"Do you know the captain of the ship where you were found?" he asked her.

"He barely speaks Furyan," Zemma told him and there was some surprise in his eyes this time, a slight cock of one eyebrow. But the cold distance never left his stance. He couldn't let this woman know he was the least bit interested in Zemma's predicament.

"She can't talk to the captain of anyone, which is probably why she stows away." He sniffed. "You will find some of mine will never speak Standard even though they've been around it for years. We are a proud people. If they can't speak it well they won't speak it badly."

"So she might understand some of this?"

Zemma cringed inwardly.

"Maybe."

The woman seemed to be settling comfortably into the man's lies now that her own opinions were being confirmed. It was a risky thing but often the only way to sell a lie was to make it sound like the truth someone _wanted_ to hear.

"Get her name. I need something for the records." The woman seemed ready to dismiss him now. She had what she needed and Zemma did not fit into whatever fears she kept so well hidden under that well modulated voice. Zemma nearly sighed with relief.

"What's your name, girl?"

Zemma didn't startle at the word 'min' coming from him; he didn't know it had any special meaningto her. Anything Zemma answered here would be taken for her name by the woman and Zemma didn't want her true name falling from the lips of this woman any more than from Dame Vakko's. What to tell him? Her lips pressed into a thin line again.

"Gypsies are very private," he said by way of explanation.

"Secretive, you mean." The woman seemed not to care too much on this point. "Hiding their criminal activities, no doubt." The jibe did not affect the man at all. "It doesn't matter, then. She'll only be a number here anyway."

The man still looked at Zemma, wanting her name for himself. She could not give him Min, she would not give herself. She had no face to hide behind yet. The woman turned and looked at the man expectantly, ready to lead him away from the prisoner of no significance. Zemma was suddenly filled with dread. Her only possible supporter was leaving her and she had so many questions, so much left to say despite not being able to say any of it. She kept her teeth clenched. He only glanced at her once more, unreadable as the other Furyans she'd met and more of a mystery. The pair turned to walk out.

"Wait!" Zemma could not let this one thing go without being said. His reaction might tell her anything.

They stopped, and the man turned fractionally her way.

"The Death Seekers have been destroyed. We can return home." Zemma kept those words calm as she could, wondering the impact they would have on him.

The woman looked only mildly curious now as she looked on the man to tell her what was said.

"She wants me to take her out of her," he said with as much composure as Zemma had ever seen.

"She isn't one of yours," the woman used his words without even understanding why they meant so much.

He nodded once and turned away. She could read nothing. He was cold to her words.

Zemma closed her eyes. What did it mean? There were other Furyans here but did they even know or care that Fury itself had been destroyed and their people wiped out thirty years ago?

But why were they here? Had they fled the attack? Furyans were fighters, yes, warriors in nation and breed, but the first rule had been 'survive!'.

Zemma had to focus on that now. The strange man and stranger circumstance of finding some of her people hiding out on this tiny, dingy planet would not help her in the Now. She had to survive, she had to find Jack, they had to get out of here. That was all she should be thinking on… and the last thing on her mind.


	50. Death Descends

50. Death Descends

* * *

The tiger stalked its prey by scent, by the tiny sign left by fleeing feet, by the few ruby droplets of blood shed by the victim as the prey carried the corpse to her lair. The tiger was patient. He conserved his energy. There was nothing left to save but the ghosts in his memories. No hurry now. Death walked softly.

They were….dead….gone…

No hurry at all.

The strides were impossibly long. Not a concern, but a curiosity. That part of his mind never shut down. He needed only to redirect it from those things he had control over to those things that might save his life later. She was stronger than any human he'd ever dealt with. Her oddly stretched body afforded her more reach, greater stride, and her mechanics gave her greater strength than her body should seemingly possess. Those were the curiosities he filed away. These were the challenges he let himself focus on. Zemma called it the Now.

He shut off any thoughts of that name. That bit of inquisitiveness would do him no good. The prison wasn't a supermax: more like a work detention center. The institution was a mere front for the mining company, to make use of even cheaper labor force and get paid for it. She was smart and strong. She would survive better there than out here with Her. All this flashed through his mind in the half second before he shut down any other concern about Zemma's condition. He was good at that.

Now. Now, he needed to deal with the cyborg before it killed again, before it somehow got her hands on Jack.

Another door slammed shut in his mind. Jack: her whereabouts, her situation, everything that made her a human apparition in his mind had to be closed behind locked doors. She was reduced to being only a grail in his head; the prize to be won for successfully dealing with the problem before him. His anger at her… His love for her… His illusions about her… all those things were only distractions from the calculations running through his head as he followed footprint to impossibly distant footprint. How could he destroy it?

Animalistic sense brought him to a stop before conscious thought registered why. Eyes dilated, lenses dropped almost automatically now. A new set of unfamiliar footprints: a large beast. Soft lowing in the bear distance told him of the heard hidden somewhere in the rocky landscape, gorging on whatever fibrous plants clung to life there. The scent nearest him was strong, acrid, and a clear warning to predators that there was a bull nearby with no fear of marking his territory. Perhaps there was no large predators here… before now. But neither the cyborg not Riddick had any interest in the beasts other than to avoid them. Interesting that the cyborg altered her path as well, it meant there were things big enough to deter her.

Riddick's mind worked the problem with a new variable. Could he use the beasts somehow? No serious train of thought followed, he was simply adding every variable to the grand equation. Everything was added in. Could that slip be used, if he lured her this way, to make her loose her footing and tumble down the rocky slope? Would that rock formation function as an ambush point? His mind never stopped entering information into the formula.

Riddick's Now was very, very busy.

* * *

Don's Now was focused with laser like precision on only one point: the break in his arm. His teeth were nearly melded together from the strain of not making any noise for the amusement of the sadistic creature that perched on his chest like some great carrion bird just waiting for him to die.

She twisted the arm again, her face close to his, listening with her sadistic grin looming into his narrow field of vision. She'd done this many times now but he couldn't calculate the time he'd been here. Minutes, or days? She squeezed the arm, the bones ground together and crumbled a bit, until he escaped unwittingly into the damned blackness.

He was fading on her. She was losing interest in her new toy as shock and threatening death muted his cries of pain. He wasn't even angry anymore. Hypatia snapped another chunk of bone off the protruding bit of his upper arm and he barely twitched. His eyes only rolled up into his head and he was gone from her grasp again.

The pool of blood under him was reaching that critical surface area she knew so well. He would die shortly and probably before he woke up enough to play with again. She ground her hips against his cooling body, feeling the air push out of him in a soft sigh. She didn't think he would give her enough now to take her over the top to the one pleasure center that was left wired into her constructed brain. Death could take her to orgasm. She'd tried sex and it amused her but only gave her release when the subject of her attentions died by her hands when she was ready. This one was trying to escape her and die of its own accord. That she was ultimately the cause was not enough. She wasn't ready for him to die yet and here he was, slipping through her fingers like so much sand. Her hands clenched as if trying to hold the last few imagined grains.

She decided on a whim just then that she would not allow him out of her control just yet. There was no great plan, no plotting his use against either Jack or Riddick. She just wasn't done with him yet. It had been too long since she had taken the time to amuse herself like this. Resplendent on fresh chemicals from the brain of the dead man, she wanted more.

Along one thigh a small leather pouch strapped against synthetic muscle was snapped open with a flick of her fingers along the flap, yielding a syringe of very special fluid. She kept it for emergencies, for Jack, her precious one, but every few years she deigned to spend it on another. This time she didn't need information from a dying brain, she needed the body… she needed the release. She could snap off its head later, when she was ready, when it would give her the most pleasure.

There was time.

Beneath her a heart slowed fractionally. Had he been conscious and privy to her thoughts, Don would have begged the universe for just a few more moments of her indecision so that the nanos would have nothing left to heal and he would be free. Had he known the nanos could do much more to a dead body than simply degenerate along with the decomposing matter he might have prayed for life, no matter how horrible living might be in Hypatia's hands. The matter was moot. She flicked the lid from the syringe and plunged the long needle into his heart before his dying breath. She was in a frenzy of lustful need now – she needed to torture him to death in her own sweet time just to clear her head before taking Jack back. Riddick was no longer a consideration. The Family was a distant thought. Her focus was on the body between her thighs and how she needed it to make her feel before she tore it to shreds.

Nanos surged through the body on a stream of highly charged synthetic adrenaline. It forced life back into already cooling limbs. Hypatia ripped the broken arm off the body and tossed it aside. She had done too much damage for the nanos to fix that even if she had cared to; it was simply in the way now. The nanos were closing the wound she had nearly pinched shut already.

Don's eyes flew open. His lungs pulled greedily at the air without his consent. His heart raced in his chest against his implicit order to just stop and set him free of the madwoman. His vision swam as the nanos invaded his brain and set it on fire as they multiplied and attached themselves to every nerve and conduit. His body shook and a scream was pulled from him that sent Hypatia purring, rubbing herself against his flailing body. Fingernails dug into him whenever his screams died down to mere whimpers. She tore off his clothing in pieces before raping his out of control body. She was so looking forward to ripping his head off, when her screams of bliss would replace his of agony.

* * *

Riddick had been trotting since the strides of the tracks he followed had begun to shorten. It meant they were close, approaching the place she thought was safe… the lair of the dragon. She had circled it once to be sure it was still secure, Riddick could see the cave that was his destination. He hoped she was still in there and that he could catch her unawares.

The screams of anguish sent him running. It would cover the sound of his approach and meant she would be distracted. His tightly focused brain filed away the voice, the face, that the scream must belong to. At this point it didn't matter. Dead, or gone. The goal was at hand. He had the advantage. Nothing so distracting as commiseration was allowed into the process. Dead or gone, the dragon must be slain, the grail saved. The objective was his only concern. With machine like precision each foot fell in front of the other on whatever flat, smooth surface was available to propel him forward. Eyes cast constantly back and forth looking not just for the next step but any attack, any escape, any advantage. Powerful arms pumped not just to increase his speed but also balanced his low, surging run and his heart spread needed adrenaline through his system. By the time he hit his target his body would be on full overdrive, efficient and deadly a weapon as every was created.

Those that had once been masters of the universe had perfected this body, and those like it, to function with absolute precision for one reason: to kill. That he was a perfect clone took nothing away from the original blueprint. He was as much an Alpha Furyan as those few still surviving members of the original race of supermen. Even those that had met his biological originator would not, at this moment, have been able to tell them apart.

Death descended like a shadow from the past.

As he entered the dark cave his lenses shifted into place as if they had always done so without his conscious thought. Now smells assailed him, but were only added into the formula and zeroed out. Dead body, no concern. Don, armless, pooled in his own blood and screaming as he spasmed under a distracted Hypatia. No help.

Hypatia. The cyborg. The goal. Looking up at him too late in his charge to escape him. A blade appearing as if by magic in each hand. The shock of impact. Their bodies coming together like to great beasts. Shrieking rage. Blood and sweat and white fluids thrown off in all directions as the two tumbled across the hard ground and crashed into the rock wall of the cave.

Eyes of the prey growing wide in surprise, then narrowing in anger as the two traded blows. He felt none of hers yet, he wouldn't until later. He felt every bite of the knife into her skin though, and that raised a kind of elation in him that was entirely too short lived.

Without weapons in hand she could only batter him, but the wounds to her nearly naked body seemed not to affect her. To his disgust they seemed to close before his eyes, time slowed down for him and her moves sped up beyond normal vision. But one false and entirely too self confident a move put one of Riddick's blades deep into her flesh-and-synthetic body. A moment's hesitation, a look of confusion, and the she was gone, leaping over him nearly as high as the ceiling and scrambling over Don, before fleeing out into the sun beyond human speed.

Riddick turned on one foot, his eyes falling to the struggling Don…

Dead… Gone…

He didn't have time to help the mortally wounded man now, the bitch was running. That small piece of human being that Carolyn had fished out of his soul wanted to stop but the hesitation was barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Don was lying in a pool of his own blood, one arm missing, convulsing… he was dead. Gone. There was nothing to be done now but track down the bitch and make her pay.

Don's voice floated out of the cave after him… "Help…me…get…up…"

Riddick's brain filed it away as one of those curiosities that zeroed out of the equation. Don hadn't said 'help me die' or 'kill me' which might have stayed Riddick's drive forward to perform one last service to his friend. Don was delirious, completely unaware that he was dying and did not need Riddick to see him to the other side of the veil now. He might not even know Riddick was there.

"Damn… you…" Floated weakly from the dark hole in the hill as Riddick's boots pounded out the staccato of death for the cyborg.

She was standing on the top of the next bluff, throwing some small object to the ground, her fury nearly tearing her apart without his help. "What did you do to my SHIP!" She screamed as she charged at him, the hole he'd made in her spilled out the white silicon sand that she'd pressed into her body. Her face was like a comedic mask of anger: her eyes too big, her mouth too wide, her teeth too white to be a real being. Riddick waited for her charge.

He didn't step aside but helped her to fly by him, a solid move used against larger opponents who were foolish enough to try to use their mass against a smarter, stronger foe. But she was lightning fast, her hands grasping his arm, nearly tearing it out of its socket as she pulled him off his feet and into her tumble past him. Neither stopped moving against the other. Her strength and speed reminded him of the Necromonger king but unlike him she fought almost insanely, with no readable or predictable moves. Riddick found himself on the defensive trying to avoid fingers like steel trying to force holes in him as his blade had punched into her.

When he was finally able to kick her away and they squared off again, the hole he'd made in her body was sealing, no longer leaking white fluid. He'd need a way to open her up so that she couldn't staunch the flow of synthetic life from her artificial body. Another variable, maybe a more important factor.

She shrieked, nearly gibbered, as she stalked him in a circle. He followed, looking for an opening in the insanity she wore like armor. She was leaving herself blatantly open, but he didn't fall into the trap. She wasn't stupid, she was just as dangerous as something rabid. Riddick was fatiguing. She might not ever get tired. He mind ran through every possibility no matter how outlandish and came up with nothing more than another clash and a lucky blade to something a little more vital.

Exhaustion began to crawl up his legs. He'd put out a huge amount of energy into a single attack and this walking in a circle was draining him of the adrenaline he needed to fight at optimum. Did she know that? Was he telegraphing it?

She smiled, and it was as evil a smile as any he'd ever seen or given. By not keeping up the attack she was draining him. He bit his tongue. The coppery, metallic taste flooded his mouth and his memories bringing up old angers and old fights. He nearly forced the next shot of adrenaline through his body by will alone. He flexed his muscles and forced them loose again. Her face got cold as she watched him.

She charged, and she was insanely fast. Her hand snatched at his, trying to disarm him. He stepped into her, where his mass and strength stole away the advantage of her reach and speed. She twisted as she fell past him, fingers dug into muscle, and her inertia caused them to tumble together into the rocky wall. Again they traded blows with elbows and knees, locked too closely together to properly punch with fists. She was entirely too solid. Riddick was powering through wholly on adrenaline now. Pain would be for later.

She gained her feet before he did. Her body warped impossibly, flexing against natural physiology: like a whip she lashed out and part of Riddick's mind almost expected the cracking sound of the sound barrier being broken. Her hand locked on his forearm, no longer reaching for the weapon. She bent and twisted. Bones and joints that should have cracked or dislocated did neither, as she threw him across the escarpment. The move, while impressive, even impossible, was no less a mistake, freeing Riddick's knife hand as he landed on his feet facing her. He could not over-power her but she was fleshy enough to be cut. Another blade, previously hidden in his boot, appeared in his free hand. Amped up on natural pain killers and stimulants, he zeroed in on his prey.

She stepped sideways, starting to circle him again, her face either a smile or a grimace, but not showing any fear. They paced out their arena. She didn't bother with any feints and Riddick couldn't afford to spend the energy. Like a tiger, he conserved his energy the moment was right to pounce. But the lack of momentum was a detriment to him and an advantage to her. She was healing before his eyes, and he was losing the edge of adrenaline. Without action, his body did not keep producing it. Between each frenzied clash he was starting to fatigue.

Then something odd happened. The world opened up behind the cyborg admitting his dream woman, and he gritting his teeth in annoyance. Now was not the time for this kind of spectacle. Time slowed. Hypatia seemed to freeze in place. There was a rushing in his ears.

Another shadow followed the first, then a third. Who were these people? He only recognized his dream woman. The face of the second woman was new to him. The third never seemed to come out of the shadow of the dream light. Three sets of hands reached for him as Hypatia seemed to restart in slow motion, having decided to act now. Three female voices spoke in unison.

"Who?"

"You?"

"Now!"

The warm glow from their hands pierced him, lightning sprang through his limbs and filled his head with painful radiance. He didn't see Hypatia's charge or the resulting flash that threw her painfully across the dunes. He fell to his knees, trying to hold onto consciousness. He fought to raise his head.

The dream woman stood to his left, one hand flat and reaching towards him, the other palm out towards where Hypatia had been. To his right stood another, her face un-obscured but unfamiliar to him, her long dark hair and light eyes reminding him of Zemma for a moment. She stood as the first, reaching to him and also out towards the empty sands. The third had stepped behind him as the radiance had blinded him. That voice had known him but he did not see her face. Tiny lines of electricity seemed to arc out from the trio through his body, rattling his brain with each strike.

Hypatia, back on her feet, stood just outside the range of the blue white tendrils of power. She paced like a cat. She could not seem to make sense of what she was seeing anymore than Riddick could. Riddick tried to rise to his feet, staggered back to his knees and kept a watchful eye on the cyborg. How much longer would the dream woman hold off the relic of the Family, and to what point if he was too weak to deal with her when they ran out of power.

"There must be a forth for this," said the new woman to his right. "Where is the forth? How are we doing this?" She whispered, not even looking at Riddick but his dream woman. She didn't answer, only looking to Riddick with the same sad, expectant eyes.

"You will save her."

Was it a prophecy or an order? Did she mean Jack, or Zemma? Riddick had his suspicions about the dream woman and her link to Zemma.

Ahead of him the finger lightning continued too sting Hypatia until she growled in frustration and turned. She would head back to her ship and the surprises he left her there. He should follow but the energy pouring through him was also draining him. He held his head up, clung to consciousness, tried to force his body to stand.

It was some minutes of quiet before the dream left him and the sands came back into clear, sunlit focus. Had the world seemed dark when the women had appeared? Had Hypatia seen it that way too? Had she seen anything at all but the lightning that tore at her silicon body?

Riddick, nearly to his feet again, dropped to his knees and pounded the sand to stay awake. He crawled forward away from where the women had appeared. He headed to the cave and the soothing darkness. He would take care of the body of his friend.

Then he would go on the hunt again.

* * *

Zemma slept fitfully, new nightmares tore at her inner world. She watched her father speaking to Riddick. She watched him step outside and into the fire. She watched him die and her own screams could not wake her up. She thrashed in the hospital bed until the on duty orderly forced a needle into her bound arm. She never woke. She never remembered why her throat was so sore and her body so wracked with pain.


	51. Detention

51. Detention

Zemma woke when people came in the room again. They didn't talk to her but efficiently transferred her cuffed hands from the bed to walking chains connecting her wrists to her waist to her ankles. She debated resisting. There were five of them, all ready for her to try to escape, and she decided not to be predictable. One was the guard she'd kicked in the solar plexus, the one who hadn't liked her being mistreated by the guard who broke her ribs. She looked him in the eye and he looked back blankly, but she saw the little muscles around his eyes tighten minuscully and his jaw clench subtly. He was wary of her but not afraid. Color rose along the skin of his neck, never quite making it to his face. She'd embarrassed him and he wasn't going to let her do it again. Dangerous combination. He might decide to follow his partner's lead if she gave him reason.

She let them handle her like a doll, not resisting but not helping. They only spoke a few words of direction to each other. When she was shackled hands together, and to her waist, feet together and another set of chains to her waist, they tugged her forward. "Let's go," one of them said, with no more interest in her understanding than you'd give an inanimate object. She didn't have a choice, she shuffled forward. Walking, such as it was in the four point restraints, let her take stock of herself. Nothing pinched or ached terribly but she was stiff and sore all over. They'd kept her long enough for her ribs to heal with the help of nanos. She rolled her shoulders and neck, trying to stretch out the day and a half of forced inactivity and bad dreams. The guard she'd embarrassed, walking on her right, stiffened. She got a little thrill from his tension and restrained a smile. She was hungry and feeling cranky and taking unprecedented delight at the man's wariness of her.

They walked her out of the infirmary and down a nondescript hallway. She would come to know that most of the hallways were nondescript, lacking even the most basic architectural design. The walls were blank, dingy, riveted steel, while the ceiling and floors were natural rock. Overhead lighting and the obvious cameras were laced in heavy wire mesh. Everything was painted a drab puce. To Zemma, used to the architectural extravagance of the Necromongers, it was more than drab it was alien and eerie.

As they turned a corner natural sunlight filled the corridor from heavily barred windows near the ceiling. It was Zemma's turn to flinch, but the five guards never broke step and she was carried along with them, her eyes squeezed shut. Through another door, and the warm light was replaced with cool synthetic light against her eyelids. Zemma sighed softly and opened her eyes and immediately noticed that the guard on her right was watching her. Now it was her turn to be galled by his presence. She didn't like showing her real weakness.

An elevator took them down and Zemma felt fairly safe she wouldn't be faced with a sunlit window again anytime soon. Her heart slowed down and she felt she could breathe normally again. The new hall they walked into was flanked with a row of bare, empty cells. She was taken to the very end cell, where another man waited outside it. He began talking as soon as they escorted her inside and began to unshackle her. He spoke Standard with a vague accent but he might as well have been speaking another language, as he recited from memory a long list of thing that Zemma had the barest understanding of.

"Do you understand these rights as I've told them to you?" He asked in a bored monotone. One of her guards laughed, "She don't speak it," the woman sneered. The man shrugged. "She don't have any representative," said another. "So we can pretty much do what we want, cant we sweetie?" said another male guard, grabbing a handful of Zemma's hair and tipped her head back painfully.

Her reaction was swift. They'd already un-cuffed her hands from her waist and another was taking the chains from her legs. Zemma stomped down hard, her bare foot sliding down the man's shin ineffectively and bouncing off his steel toed boot, but it was only to distract anyway. As he looked down towards his feet with a bemused smile Zemma brought her still cuffed hands up, sharply impacting his face. The cuffs did the most damage, equally to her wrists as to his nose, but the resulting blood was very satisfying to Zemma.

The other guards made the feeling short lived as they slammed her against the wall before she could really enjoy the moment. Zemma went limp again but kept her smile. The guard on her right had her shoulder pinned to the wall, she smiled at him. He snorted but she suspected he was trying not to smile back. Perhaps he didn't like prisoners mistreated or perhaps he just didn't like that guard, either way he seemed stern but not angry.

"Bitch!" The man screamed nasally and she expected to be hit hard in the back with a fist but the guard on her right stepped away and behind her.

"All right, that's enough." She heard him say. "Get to hospital, you dumb fuck."

The woman on Zemma's left growled, "You ain't gonna let her get away with that shit?"

"I said enough!" He bellowed, and Zemma heard a fist hit a uniform, and a short growl.

The woman said snidely, " You da boss man," but her fist clenched, digging painfully into Zemma's elbow.

The last two guards went on, wordlessly removing the shackles while Zemma was kept pinned to the wall. When they turned her to take off the waist chain it wasn't gentle but Zemma didn't protest and didn't stop smiling benignly. Politics was everywhere and politics was something Zemma could use.

Her guard, she thought of him as 'her guard' now, continued to look sternly as the three picked up chains and shackles and left the cell. The fourth had gone to the infirmary, and the off man with the little speech still stood outside the cell, watching with a banal smile. That left Zemma and her guard facing each other in the tiny space. She kept her back against the wall, her paper infirmary clothes now slightly torn, watching every twitch on his face. He stood with his arms crossed at his chest as if reading her right back. She didn't like that part much, but maybe it was a good thing.

"The Warden said you probably understand what we say," he started mildly. "So I want you to pay attention now." His voice dropped coldly, "I want no more shit from you or I might start turning my back on these assholes. You get me?"

Zemma didn't react at all. She searched his face for any extra information, any little thing he might be telling her beyond his words, even subconsciously. He'd gone very still. He was very serious. Zemma froze as well. She couldn't react, couldn't acknowledge him, couldn't even appreciate his attempt to help her. She was on her own now and would have to decide for herself how to handle each situation, no promises just to pay back kindness, even in her heart. Zemma turned her head to look pointedly at the bunk beside them. There was folded up clothing in a hideous orange color, and what looked like a paper book. She glanced back at him, inviting his explanation.

He followed her gaze and now his face spoke to her; he seemed sure that she could understand him. She vowed never to prove it.

"Get dressed in those," he told her. "That book tells you the rules but I'll break it down for you… Obey the screws, or they'll put it to you. They are doing your paperwork now. When they take you down they will give you a number. That's your name from now on."

He turned and walked out without another word to her, verbally or otherwise. Zemma followed his progress with just her eyes, not wanting to instigate the guards still hovering at the door just waiting for her to do something they could react to. The barred door closed and the three followed her guard down the row.

Commanding personality, she liked it. Didn't trust it, but liked it anyway. She hadn't seen any insignia that separated him from them so she couldn't be sure that he was their supervisor. He just had a knack…and he knew it…That was the dangerous part.

Speech-man hadn't left. He stood fidgeting outside the bars, looking in at her expectantly and licking his lips dryly. He was waiting for her to change clothes, that would mean being naked in front of him, if only for a few seconds. She sat on the bunk in her paper clothes and looked over the jumpsuit, ignoring him. It was similar in design to the generic gray one she always wore, meant to adjust several sizes to fit a range of people. Instead of buckles, though, it had Velcro straps that were very worn. She guessed it wouldn't cinch up properly and would therefore be too baggy on her. She debated even putting it on but she was cold. She could feel the slight breeze of forced air, and she was naked under the paper shirt and pants.

She shook out the jumpsuit and stepped into it, infirmary clothes and all, then turning her back on the man, ripped the paper clothes right off her body and pulled them out of the jumpsuit before cinching it up as best she could. She turned her benign smile on the odd little man and tossed the shredded remains of her hospital clothes at him. He frowned, his mouth still working as if he were eating something, then left her alone. The heavy metal door at the end of the row clanging shut more loudly than before. Zemma sat heavily on the bunk and tried not to think.

* * *

Riddick drug himself, exhausted, into the cool, dark of the cave, expecting to confront Don's lifeless body, and then to bury it. He was beyond feeling any kind of reaction when Don's voice greeted him.

"Asshole."

Riddick got awfully tired of being called an asshole, but he was too shocked, too tired, to do anything about it now. "We're both alive," he said simply.

"Get me out of this mess," Don gruffed, still flat on his back in a pool of blood. Riddick took it to mean the immediate mess and not on the grander scale, though he would have to do that as well. He walked over and looked down, crouching after a moment to get a better look at Don's arm. Don was pale, his face sunken and looking older than ever. The arm was barely healed over in a web of pink and silvery silicon threaded scar tissue. Riddick picked up the syringe, still harboring a thin white slime of some foreign nanos, suspecting where they probably came from, and looked it over then down at Don again.

"What happened?" Riddick asked as he picked up and discarded shredded pieces of Don's favorite uniform, looking subtly for any other wounds, or any other evidence of the nanos that she'd used to heal him.

"She gets off on torture," Don hissed, eyes closed against the indignity of it all. Riddick had seen how she had planned to get off, and figured Don's skin would have followed his clothes. "Bloody, maniacal vampire."

"Did she poke you with this?" Riddick held the syringe up where Don could see it, not moving to help his friend up yet.

Don's eyes fluttered open but he seemed to be having trouble focusing. He murmured, "I don't know," softly before a seizure hit him. Riddick watched helplessly, watched carefully, as silicone scabs filled open wounds right before his eyes while Don's whole body stiffened and twitched spasmodically. It looked as if the bitch had filled him up with her own hinky blood. Don's body was trying to reject it even as it healed him. Riddick wasn't sure his friend would live through the process. Riddick wasn't entirely sure he should let his friend live through the process. What exactly had she done to him?

When the spasm ended Riddick pulled Don from the congealed mess and used the loose dirt on the floor of the cave to sop up the sticky residue, rubbing it the dirt in then brushing it off. Then he took off his jacket and wrapped Don in it, laying him gently down again just as Don began to fade back in from unconsciousness in a flood of mumbled Furyan, none of which Riddick could quite make out. Did they all dream in Furyan but him? Riddick had never given much thought to what language his dreams were in. His nightmares had few words.

"Bitch, damn vampire bitch…."

"Welcome back," Riddick told him softly as he padded to the mouth of the cave to be sure the damned vampire bitch wasn't coming back to finish the job of killing Don slowly. Hot desert air was all that greeted him. He didn't even notice that his lenses did their trick, dropping for the bright afternoon sun outside and twitching back up as he returned to Don's side.

"What the hell did she do to me?" Don whispered as his body shook lightly all over.

"I don't know," Riddick told him and the sorrow in his voice was not disguised. Don's eyes flew open, searching Riddick's face. There was nothing to find there.

"Get me back to the damn ship," Don whispered the order. "Get me out of this damn hole and back to the ship."

Riddick mentally shrugged and lifted his friend into his arms, lighter by one limb and looking more like an old man than he ever had. "How old are you?" Riddick asked.

"What the fuck do you care?" Don hissed and Riddick smiled at the fire coming back into Don's voice.

"I don't. I just want you awake."

"Oh." Don paused only a moment. "Almost ninety." Riddick glanced down in surprise. "Middle aged, if she hasn't taken a few decades off me." Don closed his eyes to the bright glare outside the cave. Riddick thought his friend looked ninety today.

It was a slow process. Riddick couldn't be sure the crazy cyborg wasn't around any particular rock, though he guessed from her reaction earlier she would head straight to her ship to see what he'd done to it. He had to carry Don from vantage point to vantage point, resting them both but mostly so he could keep their surroundings in constant view. Don had more seizures and Riddick just stopped and held Don's wracked body still, wondering if this time he wouldn't wake up. Each time he did. Each time Riddick wondered if it was a good thing.

The day and half the night went on like that. Don tried to talk when he was awake, but most often he mumbled incoherently, which was more and more often. His physical wounds were healing faster than could be believed with the help of those strange silver threads that were most likely from Hypatia's nano-rich blood. It took the day and half the night to get back to the landing port... only to discover the frigate wasn't there.


	52. Alpha

52. Alpha

Both ships were gone. Hypatia couldn't have flown them both off; she would have had enough trouble just getting her own ship to turn over. Riddick hadn't though to lock down the frigate with a sequencing code. The bizzies must have decided they needed more to do than let good ol' Captain Cooper go about his business. Riddick sighed in the coming dark and set Don down.

"Thirsty…"

"Ship is gone."

It seemed to take Don a long time to digest this bit. "Gone?"

"The rent a cop busybodies must have decided it's evidence."

Don nodded at the words but clearly didn't understand them. His eyes rolled up into his head and his body shook. The tremors had died down from the horrific spasms that rocked him from head to toe. His pallor was still gray from blood loss and likely dehydration.

Riddick checked Don's wounds. The stub of his missing arm looked silvery from the peculiar nanos Hypatia hit him with but some pinkish scar tissue covered his other wounds. If he survived them the nanos really would heal him. The tremors stopped and Don's breathing returned to normal. Riddick didn't want to consider what else the nanos might be doing to his friend.

He looked out over the tarmac, debating if he should go around it to avoid any other bofias that might have been left on duty to intercept him or take the most direct route into town. Don needed water and medical care if he could find an indentured doctor. Riddick didn't want one from the guild or they both might end up as slave labor.

The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon and the sudden chill it brought caused Don to moan. Riddick scooped up Don's listless body and carried him straight for the landing zone, and the most direct route for help. Shock and cold were not a good combination and Riddick was tired enough to worry about dropping Don. He needed a few hours of hard sleep and wasn't likely to get that soon; best he conserve energy.

At least exhaustion kept his mind clear and focused: One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Don't drop the burden in his arms. Straight for the lights. Listen…Listen… No one following, no one approaching. Another mile, maybe less…

He shifted Don into a fireman's carry to ease the pain in his back and kept moving. "Almost there," he huffed softly and mostly to himself. Don must have been conscious enough to hear him and grunted in reply.

Almost there. Almost there. Rest soon. Listen. Step. Step. Listen. Step. Rest soon. Listen…

Riddick looked up from his footing to check the closeness of the lights again and stopped in his tracks. Half way across the tarmac the world opened up and a flickering light cascaded through the hole. His dream woman came to pester him about Zemma, he thought with some annoyance. Zemma was as safe as she could be in the minimum security women's prison, he didn't need to worry about her. Jack would probably find her, take care of her, until he could finish off the threat out here and break them loose.

But it wasn't HIS dream woman. It was one of the others, the one who seemed as shocked as he at what they had done earlier that day. The young woman stepped forward and bowed her head.

"Dienen, please follow me."

That word. Don had said it meant godfather, a caretaker, duty bound protector… But Riddick didn't know any other Furyans that hadn't been on the Basilica and none of them had called him dienen.

The vision woman seemed to step out of the hole in reality though she still flickered with some otherly light. She turned and headed away from the town, towards an escarpment of rocks he knew held a small village. Riddick had passed close enough to the place to ask questions about Jack but read in their faces that she wasn't there an had moved on. That village was further away than the port town. Riddick sighed. He never looked providence in the mouth though. He turned slightly left and plodded on.

His brain wanted to pick apart this strange new apparition. He thought he knew who his dream woman was, and why she visited him: Zemma's mother, some spirit form of the dead woman. But this one? He didn't have enough information to contemplate it very far. His thoughts went back to step, step, listen, step. The apparition made no sound, it cast no ambient light on the ground to illuminate his way. With his lenses up she sparked brilliantly, so he assumed she was real in some way. Near the edge of the airfield she blinked out suddenly. Riddick staggered to a stop and looked around.

A hundred yards further ahead stood a small group, eyes shining in the dark how he now knew his looked. Furyans. No one moved. Riddick lurched forward, crossing the edge of the airfield and stumbled the last ten yards over the broken ground. Hands reached out to him, lifting Don off his shoulders and guiding Riddick to a small vehicle. Few words were spoken but they were all in Furyan.

"Sit here. Drink this. We have your man. Ri, get us home." The vision woman was real here, no more illuminated than any of the other people now clinging to the sides of the small off road vehicle. Riddick sat in one of the two front seats, next to the driver. Don was in the small flat bed, covered with blankets and held in place by many hands. No one spoke unnecessarily. That suited Riddick.

Ri, the driver, and woman in his vision, spoke over the noise of the vehicle. "I'm sorry it took so long to find you." Riddick didn't reply, he didn't know anyone had been looking for him.

They didn't travel fast but it was certainly better than walking. They entered the little canyon of the village he'd seen but went deeper than Riddick had bothered until a much larger canyon opened up. Riddick was startled to see enough living space to accommodate a thousand people.

Moonlight glinted off metal piping, water flowed and crops were growing. It was a little paradise hidden behind massive rock walls. Overhead Riddick's attention was drawn to a slight flapping sound. There were huge camouflage nets stretched across the valley, showing stars through the webbing intermittently as the desert breeze moved it.

They stopped at a cave opening that looked man-made. Several pairs of hands lifted Don and offered aid to Riddick. He ignored them, not for lack of appreciation but because the moment he stopped pushing himself he would pass out for hours. Riddick followed the men carrying Don while his vision woman walked nearby to him, looking a little awed as she cast glances his way. He thought somewhat bemusedly that he should be in awe of her instead but he was simply too tired and awe wasnt common to his nature.

Inside the clearly manmade tunnel, walls were smooth and rounded as if by a boring machine, perhaps one used to find ore veins, Riddick didn't know for sure. The tunnel was minimally lighted by a string of tiny bulbs no bigger than a single digit of one of his fingers. It made him think of Christmas tree lights back on earth. The dim light didn't hurt his eyes while his lenses were up and cast a soft ambient glow that made everything clear in the dark.

Side tunnels seemed to be cut by hand tools and were similarly lit. Very few people seemed to occupy the spaces that could accommodate dozens more. When he saw beds and equipment he guessed they were in a clinic.

"We didn't know about your friend until the last minute. A doctor is coming," the vision woman said. "I couldn't find your damali," she went on. "What happened out there?"

"Damali?"

"She called us together to defend you, Deinen." She dropped her head a little in a bow as she said the last word.

His dream woman called the others together, called this vision woman to him. But this one was alive and Zemma's mother should be dead. How did that work? Riddick couldn't suss it out now. "I don't know where she is," he said simply.

"We will send a part out to look for her if I can find her," the young woman said earnestly.

"It won't work, she was never on this planet with us." Riddick didn't give the girl much attention as he watched the others work on Don, making him comfortable and setting up an IV. "He has some alien nanos in him," Riddick informed them. A few looked up in confusion, while other continued to prep Don for the doctor: cutting away his clothing and washing away dirt and blood. One took hot towels from what looked like a cupboard but gave off radiant heat and placed then neatly on the parts of Don that were now clean.

"What do you mean 'alien nanos'?" A voice, calm and basso, came from behind Riddick. He turned as what he assumed was the doctor swept past him into the room.

"Lights," the man called out and two long seconds later they came on, brightening slowly so everyone had a chance to drop their lenses. The doctor started by examining Don's missing arm. He hissed at the silvery threads there. "I want to see this stuff close up…" he said as he took a scalpel to the strange scar tissue. An aid handed the brusque man a slide without missing a beat. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime yesterday," Riddick told him, wishing he could lay down but not ready to leave his friend.

The doctor continued his examination, noting Don's vital stats. "He should be dead," he murmured to himself. The IV bag was joined by a bag of blood and Don was now nearly covered with hot towels and a blanket when the next bout of shaking began.

"How long has he been doing that?" The doctor watched the spasms with some concern.

"About every 20 minutes since I found him."

"How did it happen that he lost his arm."

"I don't know." Riddick lied without guilt.

"There's not much to do but get him stable and hope," the doctor said morosely. He looked up from Don to Riddick. "You're the Deinen? Do you have any injuries?" Riddick shook his head no. "Take him to rest," the doctor nodded to the vision woman.

"This way, Deinen," she bobbed her head reverently. "Please."

Riddick stepped away from her, into the room with Don, and laid one hand on the man's good arm.

"Don…?"

Don tried to swallow several times. "Yah."

"You're gonna be ok now."

Don nodded a little but didn't speak.

"I'm gonna sleep," Riddick told him.

Don nodded again. "Good idea. Me too."

Riddick turned towards the girl and let her lead him to another room close by.

"We have a water shower here," she waved a hand to a small room just inside the door. Riddick grunted and began to strip off his clothes. She turned her back on him quickly. Riddick suppressed a chortle while turning on the water and stepping into it before it got warm. The cold water shocked his brain clear again.

"Are you damali?" He asked the girl over the sound of the water.

"Yes of course, Deinen. But I am very untrained and it took me a very long time to find you…"

"Why are you untrained?"

There was an embarrassed pause as Riddick turned off the water and stepped out to towel himself off, he could see her wringing her hands.

"You are the first Alpha I have ever met, Deinen," she said, her back still to him. Her voice was very small.

Alpha…Alpha? That sounded familiar. Did Don mention that before? Riddick was so tired and this information wasn't part of his lock and load survival skills. He simply couldn't remember if he had heard the word before. "Alpha?" He asked her.

"Yes, Sir…?"

"What's an alpha?"

"You…Sir?" She sounded like a student trying to please a teacher.

"I don't know who you think I am," Riddick said brusquely from under a towel as he scrubbed his head and face dry. "But I don't know shit about being deinen or alpha."

"I don't understand…" she started and turned towards him, then scream and covered her face with her hands. Riddick didn't have a towel around his waist but across his shoulders. He laughed as she turned her back to him again. He could imagine her blush even if he couldn't see it.

"What's your name?" He asked not unkindly while pulling on his clothes. He had debated asking her to have them washed but he wasn't entirely secure in this new place.

"Ri, Sir. Riya Tadhg." She sounded flustered and Riddick almost laughed again but the moment had passed and tiredness was crashing in on him.

"Richard B. Riddick," he replied. "Does the mining guild know you're all here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I need them to not know about us," he said. "And, I need about four hours sleep."

She bobbed her head again, "Yes, sir," and she nearly bolted for the door. Riddick managed one last, low laugh.


	53. Jack

53. Jack

Jack's life had been a series of memories too horrible to contemplate, yet she remembered every single moment with crystal clarity. Her memories haunted her even in cryo-sleep.

Years of running with her mother, always hiding and always scared. Then her mother found dead… that moment seemed to go on for an eternity and her unusual brain could not let go of any second of it. It replayed for her every time she was forced to get into a sleep tube. Every second of her life was available to her, and sometimes even seemed to crowd into her waking life as one thing or another reminded her of her past. It could be a smell or the slant of the light or a sound similar to one in her past and the visions would start to unroll in her mind's eye without her bidding. Moments of time with Hypatia were the worst. Months of time in prison were the least painful.

She'd seen prison before she'd met Riddick, she'd killed a man before she fell in love with the ultimate killer. Of course, it had been quite by accident the first time. She'd been running from Hypatia for the third time in half a year, and the devil had again tracked her with unholy accuracy. Jack, desperate to get onboard any ship leaving the planet, had knocked over a stack of cargo to cause a distraction. She hadn't seen the man, hadn't meant for him to die. His screams had frozen her in place. The backwater planet hadn't cared about her age when sentencing her a only few hours later. Prison had been a surcease of the anxiety she felt every moment in Hypatia's company. It soothed her.

And, oddly, Hypatia hadn't broken down the walls to get her back! Waiting for it to happen had been Jack's only disquiet. Had Hypatia left her to her fate or was she prowling outside, planning to break her out? Eventually, the stress of wondering pushed Jack to escape the low security prison and seek out Hypatia on her own. Hypatia had taken it as proof of Jack's love. Jack had taken it as proof she was crazy enough to only be loved by something as mad as Hypatia. It was a pattern that would be repeated through the rest of Jack's life with only her time with Riddick and the Holy Man to give her a taste of what might be. Then she'd gone looking for Riddick rather than Hypatia.

Eight years broken into months of Hypatia, prison and cryo-sleep.

And every moment of those years as clear as if they'd only just occurred, running through her mind like wildfires: painfully hot and out of control. Jack closed her eyes and tried to focus her mind's eye on something pleasant. Oddly it was Zemma who came to mind, not Riddick. She tapped the back of her head against the bars she leaned against and tried again to focus on Riddick's face, his eyes… Don's face floated forward from the darkness. Jack sighed in frustration. Those faces brought feelings of guilt along with strong emotions that went beyond what she thought was her love for Riddick. She tried to push them away. Her mind rebelled against her.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. It was clean, weirdly clean, actually. The cage she sat in was in the center of the room, brightly lit with freestanding lights. The walls were adorned with elaborate chains. The whole thing had an artificial feel to it that made Jack think of trashy movies. All wardens had a sideline business, maybe this one made sex flicks.

She smiled, thinking she'd have to explain the whole concept to Zemma, who might not believe her at first. That would make an interesting conversation with Riddick later on if she decided to confirm Jack's story. Jack would love to be a fly on the wall… her runaway brain looked ahead to the next logical step of Riddick's explanation to Zemma and Jack bit her lip. It wasn't fair…

It wasn't fair that she actually LIKED Zemma. She should hate the woman who shared the bed of the only man Jack would have admitted her love to. Don's face swam up out of the dark again and her whole body shook with shame as she pounded her head against the bars. She didn't understand until afterwards as she was running away what a terrible thing she'd done. It hadn't occurred to her that Don would want anything other than a sexual relationship once she'd pleased him enough. 'Father' had always been an ugly word to her. Men had always been ugly to her. She thought Don was making her good enough to be his lover.

His anger at her was as bright and painful as the moment he'd thrown her off him. Her shame was as deep as that very next moment when she had realized how he really saw her, and what she had ruined. Tears slid down her face as she cursed her runaway brain that would not let her forget any single moment in her life.

Would they leave her here now? Would Hypatia and the warden come to terms and would she be led away in chains into that horrible golden ship that was like being swallowed by Hypatia herself. She didn't deserve any better. She wasn't sure she had the energy to make enough trouble to inspire the warden to stave off that inevitable end. Only Hypatia could love her. In her life there was only death and Hypatia.

Alone, under bright lights, plagued by bright images, Jack cried. She cried for the first man she killed by accident, she cried for Carolyn Fry, she cried for Riddick and Zemma and Don…but mostly she cried for herself, lost and utterly unable to find herself or even picture a future that would be any different than what she'd already gone through. She cried until she was sick and hysterical. She pounded at the bars until she was bruised and scratched at her face and arms mindlessly, only wanting to obliterate the internal pain with physical pain. Sleep stole up on her but it gave her no relief. Her dreams were clear memories. She woke exhausted.

The warden stood a few feet away, backlit by the improbable freestanding lights, her face a mask of shadows. "Little girl, I need to know your name," the woman's voice was cold. If she thought anything about the scratches on Jack's face she didn't indicate it.

"You seem pretty sure of my name already…" Jack's voice was raspy, painful in her throat from all the crying she'd done.

"There's been a change in circumstance," the warden went on. "Another attack on my people. Another woman in custody." She paused there to gage Jack's reaction to the news.

Jack didn't have a Furyan's tight self control. She didn't realize she had reacted until the warden narrowed her eyes. Jack had given something away. Another woman in custody could not be Hypatia, it could only be Zemma! Trying to follow Jack into prison? All she could do now was play it to the hilt and maybe confuse the issue.

"Your guardian hasn't checked back in with me about your… bail…." The warden went on musingly. "And this new woman in my cells, do tell, who is she?"

Jack decided, for once, to keep her mouth shut. The warden turned and walked slowly from the room.

"I think I'll impound that captain's ship while I'm at it…" she goaded, and watched Jack closely.

Jack held her tongue between her teeth wondering what else could go wrong. The warden walked around her, the click of her heels sounding loud in the cavernous room. Jack followed her with only her eyes.

"Verify your name and I'll send you back to the Protective Custody Unit until…arrangements… can be made for your transfer."

"Yah, that will be a step up," Jack sneered. "Punk City for me! Wooo!"

Jack sat in her little cell for a few more days; the door opened twice a day for food and twice more to be led to the strange little bathroom with the long wall mirror and lots of lights. She spent the rest time alone and tormented over every decision she'd made and every one that was made for her. She worried about Zemma and fretted about Don. She wished Riddick would come for her: would save her from her own childish reactions. And though it was months away she thought about her impending birthday, and wondered, 'was she it?'

Hypatia must have her sister already, Jack thought.

She seldom thought about that but there wasn't much else to do. She didn't like to think about the fate of that other girl. It had been enough to worry about herself, and Hypatia's next game. If Hypatia had jack's sister already it meant the girl was locked away, unlike Jack, somewhat safely out of Hypatia's clutches. But what would happen if the other girl was the 'bomb'? How would it be if the girl's roles were reversed? Would Jack find herself locked up somewhere while Hypatia played her death games with her sister? Was half her life traveling in cryo just practice for the inescapable prison she'd have to endure for the rest of her life if Hypatia had her way? Or would Hypatia put them both in cryo till they were needed? Was that where her sister was now?

She wished she had told Riddick the truth years ago.

She'd told Kyra the truth. Pain and love flared simultaneously in Jack's chest. The connection between them had been instant… passionate…and doomed. But at the time it had seemed to Jack that she'd met her soul mate, her one true love: that they would always be inseparable, bound by passion and dreams. When Kyra had broken her leg in Creamatoria, Jack had waited on her hand and foot. She'd kept Kyra safe at feeding time, and amused her with stories of Riddick, gleaned over the years. She thought maybe Hypatia would let her rot in Creamatoria this time. Then word had come from a guard. SHE was waiting. Jack was to do this….

Jack would have stayed, knowing that Hypatia wouldn't enter the prison complex to fetch her… Would have stayed and spent her whole life with Kyra… But while Creamatoria was an amusement park to Jack compared to life with Hypatia, Kyra hated it more than life itself. Kyra WANTED Jack to get out… and then to break Kyra out later, when her healing leg would be able to take the grind, make the run across the sulfur fields…

But shortly after escaping Hypatia again, Jack had been picked up by the strange bounty hunter and thrown into cryo-sleep.

When she'd pushed Zemma over the rail back on the Monger ship her only thoughts had been of Kyra, and her death there. Zemma had somehow been at fault, and had been entirely too understanding. It had to be fake, some kind of trap, a mind game to make Jack… she didn't know what. She just knew she couldn't think straight so close to Riddick.

He'd become mythical in her mind, so many fantasies about him had dulled the nuances of even her remarkable memory. Then, years later, in the presence of this other woman, Riddick had been so different than Jack imagined him to be. And he still treated her like a child! She hadn't really been a child when she'd first met him, and now that her body had caught up with her intellect he couldn't see it! The pain had consumed her, not just his rejection of her, but guilt for Kyra, and for wanting him so badly. She wanted him to understand how she felt before it burned her up from the inside. Zemma stood in the way, Zemma represented all that had gone wrong.

Pushing Zemma off the catwalk had cooled the hot coal inside her brain almost instantly but not as she imagined it would. Some young and innocent voice had screamed 'No!' and cold guilt had washed over her the very next instant. Riddick would hate her the way she hated Hypatia. At that moment it had seemed as if her body was operating without her consent. She felt tiny, afraid and powerless in a black cloud lost deep inside her body, unable to work the controls of her own limbs. She went on autopilot and she'd run.

When Riddick had caught her she'd been flooded with so many contrary and confusing feelings. She wanted him to know how much she loved him, how badly she felt for killing his woman, how much she wanted to die. All she could do was move woodenly at his command and hope he would kill her, finally kill her and stop the mad cycle of her life.

In her little cage, the mad cycle of her memories started over.

* * *

"Someone has got to pay, I will see justice for my men."

Jack considered shrugging and decided it would be just the right amount of irritation for the warden. She had come to a decision and had to play every card just right. Some wardens were just in it for the money. A few actually had the delusion they were making a difference in the universe. Each had to be played carefully.

"Fuck your men. Get on with your negotiations. I'm bored here. I'm ready to try the next dirtball and see if they have any more challenge."

The warden stopped and glared, her face going cold. Jack had hit it right on the nose.

"You think you can just walk away from all responsibilities because you come from a mega rich family?"

Jack shrugged again as if to say that was exactly what she thought. The warden hissed between her teeth. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. The warden was entirely too shrewd. Jack would have to be very careful, she would have to let her real feelings out to play a part.

"Get me out of here, bitch."

The warden laughed.

Play into her expectations, Jack thought: play into her emotions. Jack hit the bars of her little golden cage hard, with the palms of her hands. The warden's eyes glittered. Jack thought there was one thing that united all prison custodians, the one thing that brought them all into the game: the need to be powerful, the need to inflict pain. The woman's reaction confirmed it. She got off on pain, even her higher calling actually came in second to her baser need.

It was a delicate dance but Jack knew the steps. She had to focus on her pain, let it out in little drips and drabs because the warden would see if it was fake. She had to not let those feelings get out of control. Jack slammed the bars with her hands again, wincing a little at the hurt it caused just to be sure she had the warden's attention. "You aint nothing! I can buy a dozen like you and have you replaced here."

Jack tapped into her anger at all authority figures. The madder Jack got the more self satisfied the warden got. "You're a pretty petty tyrant running a backwater place like this. You think you're making a difference in the universe? You can't hold someone like me!"

The last bit hit home. The warden's eyes flashed with anger. She thought herself better than the average slag keeper.

"I can hold a spoiled brat like you, even in gen-pop if I choose. Think you'd like that, princess? No special treatment, no security, just you and the unwashed masses." She waited for jack's reaction. Jack called up all of her fears and frustrations: Riddick, Don, Zemma, all the things she'd done to hurt them. She dredged up all her anxiety about Hypatia. It had been building for days. She let it all out. She shrieked and tears finally leaked out. She pounded the bars with her hands and leaned her head against them, her eyes closed, picturing Hypatia, and crying, "I hate you. I hate you."

The performance was real but not in reaction to the warden. She read it that way, though, and she bought its veracity. She smiled at Jack. The bribe could wait. The girl needed to learn she couldn't push her weight around everywhere in the universe.

"You can't hold me here," she sobbed, cured in the bottom of the little birdcage.

"We'll see," the warden smirked and stalked out, her sadistic quota filled for the day.

Jack continued to sob uncontrollably, the floodgates opened but not broken. She needed to purge all the pent up fear and self loathing she had been withholding. The warden left her in her misery for another day and Jack began to lose hope that the ploy had worked when finally two slags came in and escorted her out. She was seen by the doctor and brutally deloused, and finally given her prison orange. They took her to a holding cell and gave her the prison bible. Jack flipped through it absently hoping she'd see Zemma soon.

She had a lot to make up for. She would look after Zemma, and maybe break them both out before Hypatia upped the stakes so high the warden couldn't pass it up. She had to. She owed them.


End file.
